


The Other Clown

by SweetnessEverglory



Category: Coraline (2009), IT (1990), IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Awkward Crush, Bad Parents Sharon Denbrough & Zack Denbrough, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Bullying, Character Death, Child Abuse, Crush at First Sight, Dorks in Love, Fat Shaming, First Crush, First Kiss, Getting to Know Each Other, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Consensual Touching, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Secret Crush, Slow Build, Slow Romance, Slut Shaming, Underage Kissing, Zack Denbrough A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:42:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 398,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24431545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetnessEverglory/pseuds/SweetnessEverglory
Summary: Nothing ever happened in Derry. Nothing good, that is. And for Bill Denbrough, bad things happening seemed a lot more common for him these days. And then this mysterious new stranger moves into the old house of Neibolt... Bill knows he should be afraid of the man behind the clown, but sometimes there are things even scarier than that. That includes the strange new world that the clown shows him that seems just like his own, but somehow its both better and worse at the same time, and everyone that is part of the circus performers or is with them, for whatever reason, has buttons for eyes...
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Pennywise, Bill Denbrough/Robert "Bob" Gray, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 97
Kudos: 202





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> \- Been a while since I finished Fear and now I'm getting started on this. Updates are iffy for exact dates, but definitely on the way.  
> \- I do hope everyone likes this story and comments, kudos, constructive criticism, and even requests are always welcome. I would love to collaborate with people who want to, the comments and kudos always make me happy.  
> \- I don't know if I'm going to go down the exact same route that I did with Fear, namely the stuff with the mini-clowns but hey, who knows?  
> \- This is a crossover between It and Coraline, obviously, as there are not enough of those or at least I have yet to find them.  
> \- This is more like a prologue, I guess, but I'm not interested in screwing with the numbers so this is chapter one. Yes, it is short, but the next chapter will hopefully be longer and up soon.  
> \- This is going to be an adult story and if you aren't into it, buzz off. If you are, I hope you enjoy! Although that stuff might come later and fair warning, the tags are going to get dark as fuck.

A haunting lullaby could be heard as a little button-eyed doll floats through the open window of a small sewing room which resides in an old, worn down trailer. On the corroded wood, written in paint that was chipping away and fading into nothing was the name; Pennywise the Dancing Clown. The doll, which resembles a little boy, falls into large hands that wear pure white gloves.

As the doll is placed on a sewing table an elaborate sewing kit is opened and under the green light cast by an old lamp, the hands go to work. The fingers grow longer, bonier, with large black claws extending from the gloves. The claws cut away the doll's clothes, tear the button eyes from the doll's face, pull the hair from the doll's head and the stitching from the mouth, and the stuffing is pulled out as the hand pulls the empty cloth body inside out, turning the fabric to a pale pink.

Sawdust is then poured into the new doll's mouth as facial features are added. Brown yarn is punched in the head and slightly curled, then a fresh pair of shiny black button eyes are selected from a button drawer as clothes are added. A pair of blue jeans are pulled up the doll's legs as a long-sleeved shirt is pulled over its head. A little yellow raincoat is added along with a pair of green galoshes. The hands then carefully brush the yarn with their claws, brushing it until it thins and faintly resembles realistic hair. Human hair.

However, purely on accident, or perhaps not, the gloved hands, shrunk back down as the long claws sink back into the fingers, tear the right arm clean off, including the sleeve of the shirt and even the raincoat, causing bits of cotton rather than sawdust to fall from the opening. A low grunt erupts from the creature that the hands belong to, a sound that is almost regretful in tone.

With haste, the gloved hands grab a needle and thread and pull the shirt from the doll's body. With careful precision, the hands stitch the doll's arm back onto the body and the sleeve back onto the shirt. From seemingly nowhere, out of thin air as though manifested by magic, another raincoat appears in the gloved hands and with gentle, careful hands, as though the creature is afraid of repeating its mistake, it clothes the doll.

The transformed doll, in its little yellow raincoat, its new button eyes affixed, and a little boat made of paper stitched into its hand, a red balloon tied around the other hand, making it float in the air, is released out the window and back into the sky. The creature is not done, however.

With the same diligent, patient, and precise hands, seven more dolls are made the same way as the first.

The next one is that of a boy with brown, slightly curly hair with brown buttons for eyes instead of black. He wears red shorts and a yellow t-shirt, a fanny pack around his waist and resting on his front. Next to him is a second doll with wavy brown hair, black button eyes, with large glasses stitched on its face. This one wears a gray t-shirt and black shorts. The hands release these two at the same time and for a brief second, their hands brush against each other before they go their separate ways.

The next doll is that of a black boy wearing old jeans and a simple white t-shirt that was slightly dirty. This doll, unlike the rest, is carried away by an almost monstrously large bird that flutters in from the window, brightly colored balloons tied around is wings, making it appear as though it _floats_ rather than flies, and a mean look in its beady eyes.

After this doll was another boy, his skin pale, with particularly curly hair that was wearing a blue button-up t-shirt and white pants. A gravelly chuckle escapes the creature as he lets this doll fly into the night sky, though it is not humored. Only grim.

The next two are that of a pudgy little boy and a girl with short ginger hair. The pudgy little boy has a blue shirt that was already torn on the belly and stained with dirt and even a little blood, dirtied jeans covering his legs. The girl with the ginger hair wore a pretty green dress and had a large key with an end that resembled a black button on her necklace. The hands release these two at the same time and for a brief second, their hands brush against each other but unlike the two boys, they do not go separate ways. They go together into the dark, seemingly endless sky.

The last doll is that of another boy. The hands are most careful and precise this one, for a reason not even the creature itself understands at this time. Reddish colored yarn is carefully stitched onto this doll's head, brushed and thinned most carefully by the claws, and black button eyes are sewn in as well. This one wears a shirt with longer, navy blue sleeves and the rest of the shirt is pure white. Blue jeans are pulled up this doll's legs and the creature hesitates.

Like the seven dolls before this one, the black button eyes shimmer even in the dim lighting. Almost gleaming and the creature would dare say they shine with life. With a slowness the creature knows it shouldn't have, it releases this doll out the window and into the air and watches as it floats away.

The claws shrink down once more into the gloved hands that resemble a human's. Attached to the hands is a younger, rather tall looking man dressed in a clown suit quite alike those worn by Italian opera clowns. It's completely white with puffy shoulders, a tight waistline, pantaloons, and laced boots. Red pompoms run down the front and even rest on his boots. Little bells can be heard jingling as he shifts in his seat. He has a handsome face with a head full of soft, dark brown hair. His eyes are a pale, bluish green, one of them lazy, and despite his attire, he has on no makeup, revealing pale skin.

"You're doing the right thing," a voice says from right behind him.

He looks into the large mirror that rests on his desk and sees another person dressed as a clown smiling at him.

This clown wears a baggy silk suit of silver with orange pompoms and a collar ruff. His face is painted with white and he has a bald head with red hair on either side, his mouth having a red clown smile. On his hands are large white gloves and in one is a bunch of balloons. The colors are green, red, and yellow, but the shade isn't even bright, rather dim and almost dull. If the young man didn't know any better, he'd say that the clown's suit resembled Bozo the Clown or Clarabell the Clown, maybe even Ronald McDonald.

However, the strange thing about this clown, when comparing him to the young man, is that he does not have normal eyes. Nor does he have eyes at all, at least not ones that can be considered _human_. Like the eight dolls that the young man has just released, this clown has black buttons for eyes. Unlike the dolls, however, the clown's eyes are not shiny and gleaming. Like the balloons, the seem rather dull. Almost dead.

"Am I?" the young man asks quietly, revealing a deep voice and insecurity as he looks down at his gloved hands, still regretful about the first doll's arm.

"I think you are," another voice says and the young man looks back up and sees, in his mirror, two more clowns standing beside the first, the reflective surface giving the appearance that all three clowns are standing right behind him.

The clown that had spoken, on the first one's right, was wearing a bright yellow and baggy jumpsuit with purple and teal accents and three orange pompoms running down the front. His face is caked with pale makeup and his forehead is large, with a round, red clown's nose, and puffy red hair. He was grinning in an almost lively manner, though his black button eyes are also lacking a certain shine to them.

The third clown, on the first one's left, wore a suit identical to the young man's, only his forehead, unlike the young man's, was huge, with spiked up ginger hair. Cracks ran along his bulbous forehead, almost as though they were scars from old injuries. Such as blunt force injuries from getting repeatedly hit in the head by similarly blunt objects. This clown has a smaller nose, the very same one on the young man's face, that was sporting red paint. He wore red lipstick as well, with red lines running from the corners of his mouth and up his cheeks all the way above his eyebrows. Despite also having the same black buttons for eyes, one does look slightly lazier than the other, as though one is lower, and he had rather buck teeth. His button eyes, too, were dull instead of shiny. Bland rather than shimmery. Dead and lifeless instead of alive and lively.

His heart, the young man's, suddenly feels as though it's being prickled by the thorns of a rose, wilted rather than bloomed, or even barbed wire was curling itself around the damnable organ that caused so much pain and misery. _His_ misery, to be precise. It's unfair, he thinks, for them, all three no less, to be here at this very moment. Though, the young man supposes it's a sort of poetic justice, ironic in a sense.

"You'll be all right," the first clown says, his words almost motherly and his smile almost maternal. Maybe paternal, but the young man has never truly known the difference.

"Will I?" the young man asks, scoffing with disbelief he doesn't bother to conceal. Not from them.

"Sure, sure you will," the second clown says, grinning.

"And if not..." the third, the young man's twin, in a sense, trails off as they all grin at the same time.

The first clown's grin is the scariest, without a doubt. Unsettling, disturbing. The sort of wicked grin that sends chills through the veins, seemingly stilling the blood and freezing the bones. The second's is more creepy, in a sense, like the evil grin of a person you don't know who seems to watch you constantly. The sort of nasty grin that makes even the most naive of children uncomfortable. The third's is nearly as scary as the first's, an evil, otherworldly thing that haunts dreams for _years_. Almost like a scar that never fades, a wound that never heals. All three, the sort of grins that make people repeatedly check that all their doors and windows are locked. By day and by night. But the young man supposes that having everything locked up doesn't matter when whatever it is you fear is already in your house.

"You'll float too!" the first clown says.

The second lets out a quick laugh, taunting and mean. "I'll drive you crazy!" he says, "And you'll kill them all!"

"Kill them all!" the third, his twin, says before he starts to chant it. "Kill them all! Kill them all!"

More voices join the three clowns in their disturbing words and their wicked chants that dirty the young man's thoughts. They echo in the young man's head, taunting him, toying with him, like a predator that made the hunt but had yet to go for the kill. A tease. The jeering voices are innumerable, and yet the three clowns are heard above them all even as the young man presses his hands to his ears in a futile attempt to block out the sound.

"Kill them all! Kill them all!" the third clown and children chant together.

"I'll drive you crazy and you'll kill them all!"

"You'll float too! You'll float too! You'll float too! YOU'LL FLOAT TOO!" hundreds, maybe even thousands, of children and adults and the first clown chant together.

Fingers dig into his hair, the words and their volume making his head pound and spin. It isn't a dull throb, but rather it feels like a rapid heartbeat that belongs to an already weakened heart that is about to stop beating entirely. He grits his teeth, which grow monstrously sharp, and his head begins to bleed as large, black claws form once more on his fingers and he digs them into his flesh. He closes his eyes and shakes his head as they grow warm and quickly turn hot as they begin to sting with tears, not realizing that his irises are quickly turning from pale bluish green to a bright, furious red color. His tears are frustrated and devastated. Lonely and _afraid_.

"SHUT UP!"

He bellows, his voice loud and deep and bordering an octave that sounds suspiciously like the roar of a monster. And yet it's the pain, rather than his words and his sound, that makes the chanting stop, though the clowns don't disappear. They continue to stare, rather creepily, at him with their heads tilted to the side and their grins bare wicked gleams despite the fact that their button eyes remain dull.

The first clown steps forward, much to the young man's dismay, and places his hands on his shoulders, though he doesn't feel it as much as he's forced to _see_ it. In the mirror, he watches as the first clown's cheek brushes against his own and he feels nothing at all.

"Will you be making four more?" the first clown asks with a curiosity that the young man finds rather morbid.

He can't help but think making four more would be rather a waste of time and materials.

"One of them gets beats enough as it is," the young man says dryly as he lowers his hands from his head, trying to ignore the blood dripping from the claws and then his fingers as the appendages return to _normal_.

"Ah, yes," the first clown giggles. "He'll quite like doing daddy in, won't he?" the clown's teeth sharpen, the only thing that gleam. " _Again_."

The young man sighs almost morosely as he watches his reflection. The first clown is now applying makeup to his face, and he watches as the white of it covers his pale flesh. He watches as his irises flicker from the furious red to a rather ominous shade of yellow, the color almost _bleeding_ into his eyes.

"You know what you've got to do. Unless you want to _float too_."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- A week and a day later but here is two!  
> \- I want to think that this is a good chapter but I always go back and think, "What more can I add to this?" or "This could be better" so I hope it's good!  
> \- The "Dark as Fuck" tags are on the way, probably in the next chapter so that's a fair warning.

Georgie Denbrough, a seven year old boy, watches as the rain falls and fogs up his big brother's bedroom window, patiently listening to the soft crinkling of paper as Bill makes him a paper boat. He draws a smiley face on the window.

"Sure I won't get in trouble, Bill?" Georgie asks, turning away from the window.

Bill is sick, or at least he _sounded_ sick. Georgie heard him vomiting in the bathroom, but he doesn't really _look_ sick. Georgie thinks Bill doesn't realize it, but he has a feeling he just doesn't want to play with him. He guesses it makes sense, since it is pouring rain, but a rainy day can be just as fun as a sunny one, right? Maybe Bill just doesn't like rainy days.

"Don't be a w-w-wuss," Bill says. "I'd come with you but I'm --" he starts to cough into his hand.

Georgie thinks that it doesn't sound like a _real_ cough. Only a fake one. Georgie has been sick before, and so has Bill, but the cough doesn't sound like the ones Georgie remembers. Does Bill really dislike rainy days that much that he'd pretend to be sick just so he doesn't have to go play with him?

"-- dying."

"You're not dying," Georgie says, sighing as he stands up.

He gets that Bill doesn't really want to come with him and that he's not really sick. Just pretending. He's lying, but Georgie isn't upset by it. Bill is still his best best friend in the whole world. Still, he wants to go out and play.

"You didn't see the vomit coming out of my nose this morning?" Bill asks, jabbing his thumb towards the bedroom door. All Georgie can think of is how disgusting that sounds, and that Bill is talking kind of fast for someone who's supposed to be sick.

"That's disgusting," Georgie says, walking towards him.

He didn't see it for himself, not really wanting to because that's just gross, but he's seen a kid from his classes get sick before. He's been sick himself like that before. It wasn't the same. He's not mad at Bill, maybe a little disappointed, but he's getting a paper boat, so he's happy about that.

"Okay, go get the wax," Bill says.

A strange feeling envelopes Georgie at those words. It feels like when he's wrapped up in a blanket, but it doesn't make him feel at all warm, only cold. He has never liked the cellar, only having gone down there a few times before and avoiding it the rest of the time. When the light isn't on, and it's hard to see, he doesn't like it. Wuss or not, he gets scared even though Bill has told him more than once that there's nothing really there.

Bill says there are no monsters in Georgie's closet, no monsters under his bed, and definitely no monsters lurking in the cellar. Georgie trusts and believes Bill no matter what, even if he's lying about being sick now, but it doesn't change the fact that when he's alone, cellar or not, it often feels like eyes are watching him. Like when a mean teacher calls you out and everyone in the class just has to stare, almost like they've got nothing better to do than add to your embarrassment. Or in the case of the cellar, his fear. Even more strangely is that the feeling of being watched has become more common and he doesn't know why. He just knows he doesn't like it.

"In the cellar?" Georgie asks, not wanting to get it himself but not wanting Bill to think he's a wuss.

"You want it to f-float, don't you?" Bill asks.

Even that word makes Georgie feel uncomfortable and already the feeling of being watched has come back, though he does feel better around Bill. He guesses the thing he'd be more afraid of than any monsters in the cellar or anything in the dark would be disappointing Bill.

"Fine," he says, almost dejectedly.

Georgie grabs his walkie talkie that he shares only with Bill and leaves the room, each step toward the cellar and away from Bill making a strange sense of dread form in his belly. It almost feels like something bad is about to happen, like getting caught doing something bad, and he doesn't know why. He barely notices his mother playing her piano downstairs.

Walking through the house itself seems creepy enough, like spiders or any sort of crawling bug, despite the fact that Bill is upstairs. Seeing the door and the dark behind it makes Georgie's heart beat faster than normal and it makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It even feels like little spiders are crawling up and down his arms and legs. Even though he doesn't see anything, it feels like those eyes are watching him.

He stands at the top of the stairs, his breathing faster than normal. He jumps when he hears the screech of the walkie talkie but calms at the sound of Bill's voice.

"Hurry up."

Georgie flips the switch, up and down, but the darkness stays. The bulb must need changing, he figures. He mutters to himself as he places both hands on each wall as he carefully steps down the stairs, his heart feeling ready to pop out of his tiny chest like he's a cartoon character. He grabs onto the railing, mindfully stepping down and he knows he's taking longer than necessary.

Even in the darkness, cast even worse because of the onslaught of pouring rain and the dark gray sky, he can see the wax. He grabs it and turns around, ready to go back upstairs without running as fast as his legs will carry him, or he will run and try to be quiet about it so Bill doesn't hear, and then he sees it. Or rather, he seems _them_.

They're eyes. They have to be. Two gleaming silver, or maybe even shiny white, balls are seemingly floating in the darkness, in the darkest, coldest corner of the cellar. Monster eyes, he thinks.

In his already frightened imagination, his mind conjures up a pair of shining eyes that belong to a nameless monster that has no body, no shape, no real monstrous form. It's so much scarier that way, when you never really know what the monster is. He grabs the flashlight from the table and turns it on, aiming it at the eyes, hoping there isn't really any monster.

He sighs as he sees its only a pair of light bulbs that aren't in their box. But then he can't help but wonder what caused there to be a reflection that made them shine like _that_. He looks around the basement for a brief moment, his heart slowing, until it nearly pops like a balloon inside of his chest at a sudden loud roar of thunder. His fear of Bill calling him a wuss disappears almost instantly as he runs up the stairs.

Moments later, he's watching Bill paint the wax on the boat, his chin resting on Bill's shoulder.

"All right," Bill says, finishing with the wax as he hands the boat to Georgie, already having written _SS Georgie_ on it. "There you go," Georgie smiles at the boat as Bill smiles at him. "S-sh-she's all ready, Captain."

"She?" Georgie asks curiously.

"You always call boats 'she'," Bill says.

Georgie doesn't get it, but since Bill said it he guesses that it makes sense.

"She," Georgie repeats. "Thanks."

He hugs Bill tight and Bill hugs back. They share a small laugh as they let go and Georgie grabs his walkie talkie.

"See you later," Georgie says, almost skipping happily. "Bye."

Bill watches him go, feeling slightly guilty for lying about being sick. It was rainy, really bad too. He knows he should go with Georgie, but he just doesn't want to play with him. That was kid stuff. He gets out of his seat to look out his window, seeing Georgie in his yellow slicker waving happily up at him, the boat in his hand.

"Be careful," Bill tells him on the walkie talkie.

Georgie nods, though Bill doesn't see it, before taking off and placing the boat into the rushing water. He giggles as he chases after it, disappearing from Bill's sight. He focuses on the boat as it sails away. Water splashes his legs above his galoshes as he runs through the rainwater, treading on soaked sidewalks and through the grass. He follows the boat all the way up to the road blocks that are set up because of the flooding and he ducks to avoid hitting his head. He isn't as successful the second time, having missed the second road block, though it is entirely possible that it wasn't there a moment ago, and it hurts.

He slams headfirst into it, stars that are both white and black making his vision go blurry as he falls on his bottom, his pants getting soaked with rainwater. His forehead throbs painfully, as though a fist is punching him in the head repeatedly, and it hurts as he slowly gets himself up, blinking away black spots, and yet all he can focus on is where his boat has gone. He sees it as it bounces off something large that's covered by a tarp, another thing that wasn't there a moment ago. And then it -- _she_ \-- starts to head down away from him, but Georgie doesn't realize the boat isn't moving on its own.

Something is pulling it away from Georgie, closer to itself. Not that the boy realizes it, not that he may ever realize it. All he can think to do is stand up and chase after it -- _her_ \-- before it -- _she_ \-- gets lost.

Georgie runs after the boat, barely able to keep up with it -- _her_. He barely notices the street signs for Jackson and Witcham, but he does see the storm drain that it's -- _she's_ \-- headed right for. She stops for a second, caught on a crack in the pavement that certainly wasn't there a moment ago, but before Georgie can grab hold of her and pull her to safety, she goes right into the storm drain.

"No!" he yells, his heart hammering, afraid of losing her after only one time and at all. "No!"

He falls to his knees, peering into the storm drain for his boat. He sees nothing but darkness. She's gone, he knows. He doesn't even feel the fear of whatever faceless, nameless monster that may be lurking in the darkness of the sewer, instead he feels afraid of how angry Bill is going to be with him. He might not ever make him another boat after this...

"Bill's gonna kill me," Georgie says sadly, almost crying as he keeps looking into the storm drain.

Suddenly, a pair of gleaming yellow eyes that remind him instantly and frighteningly of the ones he thought he saw in the cellar are peering right back at him. From _inside the sewer_. Georgie yelps and jumps back, his heart racing in his chest.

"Hiya, Georgie," an unfamiliar voice of a man, an adult, says from inside the sewer.

The eyes come closer to the storm drain, revealing the face that they belong to, and they're looking up at him. Georgie misses how the eyes change color, from an ominous, dangerous sort of yellow to a deep, happy blue. He realizes just how _blue_ they really are and wonders how he could've thought them to be _yellow_. Though he also wonders how this stranger could've gotten into the sewer, considering how much larger he is than Georgie.

His face comes into view after his eyes. His entire face is covered in white paint, his nose painted red and he has red lipstick on, with red lines painted from the corners of his mouth all the way up his cheeks and even above his eyebrows, just like a clown. His face is kind of handsome, defined and his grin makes him seem childish, but in a cuter sort of way, like a little button-nosed clown. But he isn't even wearing a brightly colored wig like most clowns, red or green or blue or even rainbow colored. His head is full of dark brown hair that actually kind of makes him look kind of cool instead of funny. His clown suit is white and not brightly colored like most funny clowns, but Georgie can hear the faint jingling of little bells.

"What a nice boat," the stranger says, grinning up at him. "Do you want it back?"

"Um..." Georgie says, hesitating. He knows he isn't supposed to talk to strangers. His dad says so. "Yes, please."

"You seem like a nice boy," the stranger says, his grin dimming into a creepy sort of smile. "I bet you have a lot of friends."

Georgie stares down at him.

"Three, but my brother's my best best," Georgie says honestly.

"Where is he?" the stranger asks, sounding curious.

"In bed. Sick," Georgie says.

The stranger frowns for a split second, then smiles again, less creepy than before. "I bet I could cheer him up. I'll give him a balloon." He stares at Georgie, who stares right back. This stranger has balloons? "Do you want a balloon too, Georgie?"

It doesn't even register in his mind that this stranger, dressed in a clown suit, who he is sure he has never met before knows his name. All he can think of is his dad and Bill, who have both told him to never take anything from strangers.

"I'm not supposed to take stuff from strangers," Georgie says almost hesitantly.

He doesn't want to hurt the stranger's feelings, but he still doesn't know him.

"Oh," the stranger says, still smiling. "Well, I'm Robert Gray. Some people call me 'Bob', but lots of people call me Pennywise the Dancing Clown," he says, jiggling his body and shaking his head happily. Georgie can hear the jingling of the bells again, missing how his eyes flash silver as he moves. "Pennywise. Yes. Meet Georgie. Georgie meet Pennywise."

Georgie laughs a little, not afraid of the stranger anymore. He thinks he likes Robert "Bob" Gray, or Pennywise.

"Now we aren't strangers, are we?" Pennywise asks him.

Georgie stares curiously down at him, the question of just _how_ Pennywise got into the sewers still poking his thoughts. He completely misses the old lady from down the street coming out of her house and staring down at him, watching him look into the storm drain. Her cat stares down at Georgie as well, though the cat looks more terrified than she does, clearly knowing something she doesn't. As a matter of fact, the old woman seems rather vacant as she pulls her curtains up to protect them from the wind, almost as though her mind isn't with her.

"What are you doing in the sewer?" Georgie can't help but ask. "And how come you don't have funny hair? I thought all clowns had funny hair?"

Pennywise just smiles. "Storm blew me away," he says. "Blew the whole circus away. Blew my funny hair right off my head," he says, chuckling a little. Then he frowns, just a little. "Can you smell the circus, Georgie?" he asks. He does smell something right then, something that definitely isn't the gross smell you would typically find in the sewer. "There's peanuts, cotton candy, hot dogs, aaaand --"

Pennywise trails off, grinning again as Georgie smells each of the food he lists. And then he smells it. Sweet and buttery.

"Popcorn?" Georgie asks.

"Popcorn!" Pennywise says happily, giggilng. "Is that your favorite?" he asks, his eyes gleaming knowingly, though Georgie doesn't notice.

"Uh huh," Georgie says happily.

"Mine too!" Pennywise says, giggling and then laughing. "Because they pop," he giggles again. "Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop."

Georgie giggles as Pennywise repeatedly says 'pop' and he can even imagine the popcorn makers, like at the movie theater. Now he wants popcorn as all of his fear goes away. He joins in.

"Pop. Pop."

As he laughs, feeling happy instead of afraid, the shift in the air is immediate. Darker, much more grim, as Pennywise suddenly makes a low sound in his throat that reminds Georgie of a mean dog about to bite. And then Pennywise is frowning. It makes Georgie feel uneasy and uncomfortable, maybe even a little afraid. He only knows Pennywise's name, and nothing about him other than he's a clown with the circus. Georgie stops laughing, almost immediately, as the clown keeps staring strangely at him, that same creepy frown on his face.

"Um, I should get going now," Georgie says nervously, a coldness settling on his skin. He's sure it's not because of the coldness of the rain.

"Without your boat?" Pennywise asks. "You don't wanna lose it, Georgie," he says, his next words making fear prickle Georgie's insides like little needles. "Bill's gonna kill you."

Pennywise smiles and then grins, his teeth bared like a dog's, but it doesn't settle Georgie's unease. It somehow makes it all the more worse, fear prodding his insides as his heart beats unsteadily. His back is the coldest, a kind of cold that makes his skin crawl.

"Here, take it."

Georgie feels conflicted. He wants to have his boat back, not wanting to lose it after only one time and not wanting Bill to be mad at him, he doesn't want to disappoint his _big brother_ (he misses Pennywise closing his eyes, a rather disheartened expression flickering on his face), but at the same time he has a strange feeling that if he does reach into the drain, giving this stranger his trust, he might not like what happens next.

Pennywise, or Robert, was weird, but he was kind of nice, right? He was going to give Georgie his boat back, wasn't he? He was weird, but sort of nice, if not a little creepy. But what Georgie feels more afraid of is Bill finding out that after only one time, he'd lost the boat. He doesn't think Bill would make him another one, and he doesn't want Bill to think he's a wuss just because he wouldn't take it back all because he was scared of something as silly as a clown. Even if he didn't have funny hair... Bill was his best best friend, his _big brother_... he couldn't...

"Are... are you _crying_?" Georgie asks, his eyes widening with surprise and then he thinks he feels guilty. He didn't hurt Pennywise's feelings, did he? By not taking the offered balloon? By not just grabbing his boat?

"Huh?"

Pennywise blinks but Georgie still sees them. Tears are running down his cheeks, already dripping from his chin and onto his suit. Weirdly enough, his makeup isn't even smearing, as though it's actually his skin and not makeup applied to his face. And for a brief second, the happy blue of his eyes turn darker, almost duller, but mostly sadder.

The clown shakes his head, bells jingling again, but the tears don't disappear. He tries not to growl in frustration, especially since the sweet smell of Georgie's fear is replaced with a strange stink of guilt. Well, it stinks and smells good at the same time. Like a dessert or a meal rich in flavor, but overly done to the point that the scent becomes pungent. Guilt isn't the same as fear, Robert thinks, though it does give the taste of fear a special zing. Not in Georgie's case, however.

"I'm sorry," Georgie says, sounding sincere. "I didn't mean to... hurt your feelings..."

Robert lowers his eyes. _Why_ was this so... _difficult_?

 _This should be **easy**_ , he thinks quite bitterly.

"Take it," Robert says, lifting the boat up.

The hunt is over. Georgie doesn't reek deliciously of fear anymore, only stinks of guilt. He can hear the disappointed voices of the three clowns echoing in his head, each one angrier than the last. But they don't insult him for his inability to finish the hunt, to go in for the kill. What they say is far worse, they're reasons why darker than their very words.

 _ **YOU'LL FLOAT TOO! YOU'LL FLOAT TOO! YOU'LL FLOAT TOO!**_ _She_ roars at him.

Coming from her, Robert knows its a warning. One he _can't_ ignore. She's urging him to finish the hunt and go for the kill. But he _can't_.

 ** _YOU'LL DIE, IF YOU TRY! YOU'LL DIE, IF YOU TRY!_** _He_ jeers at Robert.

Coming from him, Robert knows its another warning. Another one he _can't_ ignore. He's urging Robert _not_ to do what he wants, deep down.

 _ **KILL THEM ALL! KILL THEM ALL!**_ The last one yells at Robert.

Coming from him, Robert knows its nothing more than instinct. A carnivore's urge to hunt and to kill and to _eat_. _That_ one is urging Robert for very good reason.

Lightning may not strike the same place twice, but it could always strike again.

Georgie reaches into the storm drain just as the voices of the clowns all start taking on monstrous octaves, each one like a carnivore's instinct urging the beast. Egging it on.

"I can't reach it," Georgie says, sticking his tongue out as he reaches his arm all the way in.

Eyes flashing from blue to yellow, an instinctive impulse Robert _can't_ control taking over him, he snatches Georgie's wrists and his lips peel back, revealing sharp teeth as his mouth morphs into a monstrous form, hundreds of teeth protruding from extended gums. The saddest thing is, Georgie is so focused on getting his boat back and finding a way to make Robert feel better, that he doesn't even _notice_ as his hand takes hold of the boat. The monster takes over and yanks Georgie into the sewer, making the boy cry out with shock and even a little fear. But it's not enough, not to quench the beast's hunger. Worse than that, Robert thinks, is that he didn't even make it quick for the boy by biting his arm clean off like he _should have_. Like he was _supposed to_. That little action, or rather lack of, is what makes the creature freeze in place, his eyes a bright, bloody red that gleams in the darkness of the sewer, and hold the boy close to him, his long arms wrapping around Georgie's small figure as though the creature is _hugging_ him.

One gloved hand is on the back of his head and the other is around his waist, holding him close against the clown's chest. The puffballs dig into Georgie's chest and stomach. He has his boat back, or at least it's in his hand. Robert thinks it is almost disturbing how small Georgie is that he fit right into the drain, slid in so easily. Like a small rabbit, a meek prey, that was unfortunate enough to find itself in the jaws of a hungry wolf.

 _He's so tiny_ , Robert muses as he holds the boy, hugging him as though he's something dear to his heart.

 ** _He will be very tasty_** , three voices croon in his thoughts, each one more taunting than the last.

 _Shut up_ , Robert thinks at once. He doesn't want to think about what a nice snack this boy really would make.

"Hey... that hurts..." Georgie says, squirming in discomfort.

He had been surprised when the clown had pulled him into the sewer, the sweet smell of popcorn, the warm scent of peanuts, and the sugary smell of cotton candy all gone now. All he could smell was stink. Sewer stink. But that wasn't the worst of it. He felt something sharp, almost like fingernails, digging into his back and the back of his head even through his slicker. He could understand that maybe Pennywise was supposed to be a Sad Clown, but was he really so sad that he needed a hug? Or was he sheltering Georgie from the rain? Or was he just weird?

Robert flinches but is unable to shrink the long black claws or even release the boy. His mind and his hands, monstrous shaped and human sized, are working against each other and even him. His belly yearns for food but his mind is against the idea. He can't even will himself to shrink down his teeth and gums or even make his eyes go back to blue.

**_Kill him! Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!_ **

They all urge and scream. He's certain he's unintentionally manifesting balloons, all bright and bloody red, at this point. He's not even in the television, on the very same channel as all other televisions in Derry, urging a boy to kill his abusive father... what a pity, he thinks grimly. Darkly.

"My big brother will be missing me... I've gotta go..." Georgie says and that makes Robert flinch. Again.

He grits his teeth, the sound of them grinding together like nails on a chalkboard. Robert is thankful the rain drowns out the sound as he manifests a sixth finger between his index and middle fingers, its claw longer and more deadly than the rest, and jabs it into his own hand until it makes an indent in his palm and then pierces the flesh, drawing blood that slides down his wrists and drips down, disappearing into the darkness, as to silence the taunting voices.

It works, and then he is stuck in his own mind, trapped in his own panicked thoughts, with a dilemma he thought he'd never have. One he had _hoped_ he'd never have. Kill the boy? Have a nice _snack_ before going back into hiding until next summer? Let him go? _Pretend_?

"Are you sad?" Georgie asks, wondering if that was true.

He was definitely confused, maybe even still a little scared, but maybe that was what Pennywise, or Robert, was too. Scared. And maybe lonely. Didn't he say the storm blew the whole circus away? And Sad Clowns were sad for a reason, weren't they? Or maybe Robert wasn't acting as Pennywise right now, and was just honestly sad. Maybe he was sad because his funny hair and the circus were blown away. Maybe that was why he pulled Georgie in, because he wanted a hug before he left.

"When I'm sad, I like hugs. Not from my friends, only from Bill," Georgie smiles. "That's my big brother."

He doesn't notice the sullen expression deepen on the clown's face.

"You're weird," Georgie continues, "but a nice kind of weird. Don't tell anyone I hugged you though, Bill says that's not cool. I think that's just that mean Henry Bowers talking though."

The clown's eyes widen, his breathing hitching and then stopping altogether, when he feels the boy wrap his arms around his neck. The _boy_ is _hugging **him**_.

"Hugs make everyone feel better," Georgie says, too innocent, or maybe just too naive, to notice the clown's obvious discomfort. "I think Henry Bowers needs more hugs too."

How long the hug lasts, Robert doesn't know. Neither does Georgie, but the boy doesn't mind. He's made a new friend, no matter how weird he is.

"Is the circus coming to Derry?" Georgie asks after a while, still hugging the clown and smiling cheerfully.

A lump forms in the clown's throat. For the first time in a very long time, the voices are silent even after his wound is gone along with his monstrous appendages, though his eyes return to yellow. But rather than their normal ominous shade, they're just a saddened yellow. And then, like a switch being flipped on, a light bulb turning bright above his head, an idea forms in his mind.

"Y-yes, it is," Robert says, trying not to stutter on his words.

Things have already turned out far too differently. He knows what he _should_ do at this very moment, but he also knows he _can't_. And maybe, just maybe, this moment will be for the best.

"Really?" Georgie asks excitedly.

"Yes..." Robert says, his eyes impossibly wide as he looks out of the storm drain.

He can see the old lady bumbling around vacantly while the cat stares right back at him, its own eyes wide and its pupils enlarged. In front of the cat, however, is the three clowns, each one staring at him with disappointed expressions. Amidst that disappointment, however, is confusion that mirrors his own. Robert doesn't miss how the rain seems to fall right through them, as though they aren't even there.

"Will there be other clowns, like you?" Georgie asks.

"M-maybe..." Robert says quietly, his mind working fast. "With all kinds of animals..."

"Elephants?" Georgie asks eagerly.

"Elephants... lions... tigers... and bears..."

A predator treads a careful path in seek of his prey.

"But..." Robert says in a cautious voice. "... you've got to have a special ticket to get in."

"Like Willy Wonka?" Georgie asks. "Will there be chocolate too? And Oompa Loompas?"

"We'll see..." Robert says carefully.

"What's the ticket?" Georgie asks, trying to pull his head back to look at the clown but Robert's grip on his head tightens, keeping the boy's chin against his shoulder.

"Oh, I don't want to spoil the surprise, Georgie."

That was a lie.

"Can Bill come too?"

"Oh, of course!" Robert says, trying to sound enthusiastic as the clown's all tilt their heads curiously at him. He was sure quite sure that if they had human eyes, they would be narrowed in suspicion. "Bill and all of his friends!"

"Eddie and Richie and Stan, too?" Georgie asks.

"And Ben and Beverly."

"Who?" Georgie asks. He doesn't think Bill has any friends named Ben or Beverly.

Robert grins. _If a shark could grin_ , he thinks. A predator's smile.

"Oh, you'll see, Georgie," Robert says. "And don't you listen to any of those rumors about Beverly Marsh, oh, they're not true at all," he says, grinning almost merrily. _Almost_. It's easier to pretend, he finds. "She's a doll. As cute as a button!"

"Really?" Georgie asks curiously.

"Oh, yes!" Robert says. "Dolls and buttons, Georgie. _Dolls_ and _buttons_."

Georgie doesn't get what that means, but wonders if it's some sort of clue as to what the ticket is going to be. He's actually really excited and hopes his parents let him and Bill go.

"When does the circus open?" he asks.

"Not for a while yet," Robert says, chuckling grimly. "Storm blew it away, remember? Blew my funny hair away too."

Georgie laughs at that, the fear gone once more. He doesn't notice the grunt that escapes the clown.

"One more thing, Georgie," Robert says. "The dolls see everything, the balloons will show you the way, but only the key opens the door."

"Is that a puzzle?" Georgie asks.

"Uh huh," Robert says. "And you'll like what you get when you solve it."

Another lie.

"One more question," Georgie says. "How do we get out of the sewer?"

The answer to his question comes, but not from Robert.

"What are you doing down there?!"

Georgie jumps at the sound of an older woman's voice yelling down at him. He lets out a shrill cry as he feels himself being yanked back out of the sewer, Robert's grip disappearing almost instantly as though it was never even there. She's mindful of his head, careful not to have him get stuck or hurt himself, and pulls him back onto the road.

"Dumb kids crawling into sewers! You could've broken your neck or gotten your arm ripped off!" the old lady from down the street scolds him, her cat still sitting on the porch, watching the scene unfold.

Georgie frowns.

"Now can you help Robert?" he asks, though he doesn't know how Robert is supposed to get out considering how much bigger he is than Georgie.

The woman looks at him with a funny expression. As though she thinks he's playing jokes and she is definitely not amused.

"You've got another fool kid down there?" she spits, though she doesn't peer into the sewer to look.

"No, he's a --" Georgie doesn't finish his sentence. He looks back into the storm drain and doesn't see Robert. There's nothing, not even a trace, that he was ever really there. Except Georgie's boat in his hand and instead of miles and miles down into the sewer and... he realizes there's a doll sitting on the pavement, right above the storm drain.

It looks just like him, with the same paper boat in his hand, stitched right on, but there's a red balloon tied around its wrist, which is surprisingly floating upwards despite the bad weather, and it has black buttons for eyes. It even has the same yellow slicker and green galoshes. Even more weirdly is the fact that it's not getting at all wet even though the rain is still pouring.

Maybe it's against what Bill and his dad would say, but Georgie takes the doll knowing that it was from Robert. He misses how the doll's black button eyes shine and _gleam_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Chapter three is on the way!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Chapter Three!  
> \- So this chapter is... well it's a chapter and it's got stuff in it. Tag-wise, what other tags should I use for this particular chapter? Either way, as the story continues, new tags are going to be added in the order of the chapters. If tags are wrong or some need to be added, please let me know. I'm bad with tagging and I'm adding homophobic language now because, obviously, it's used  
> \- Warning: Bad parenting, bad things, if that is sensitive, be wary of this chapter cause it's only gonna get worse. I mean Alvin Marsh in the book worse, for those of who read the book. Okay, it gets really weird at the end  
> \- Other than that, I hope this chapter is decent and the next one will be up soon!  
> \- Also, this story is centered around Bill and Pennywise, obviously, but until the big stuff hits, the other characters will have their bits from the first movie.

Mike Hanlon is breathing heavily as he stares down at the sheep, the gun in his hands feeling heavier than it really is as he stares at it and it at him. Flies buzz around its head, though it doesn't seem to notice. Its eyes just seem so sad, as though it knows whats coming and it knows it can't be avoided. Mike wonders if all the sheep on his grandfather's farm know they're going to die one day, by a bolt shot between their eyes. Sweat beads down his face as his entire hands turn clammy and tremble, his stomach twisting itself into knots.

He can hear all of the sheep bleating as they're herded into the barn. He can hear his grandfather urging him to pull the trigger, just as he can feel his grandfather's eyes on him. He even knows that the farmhands are watching.

"Pull it, Mike," his grandfather tells him, almost gently. "Go on now, pull it."

Mike doesn't even flinch as his grandfather grabs the gun and stares sternly at him, clearly disappointed and unimpressed. Mike sighs as he watches his grandfather aim the gun at the sheep's head and fire it instantly, looking not at all remorseful or even hesitant as it falls to the ground. Dead. His grandfather pulls the empty bolt from the gun, tossing it into the bucket, and hands the weapon over to the aide.

"Here, reload it," his grandfather says and Mike knows he's in for another lecture as his grandfather turns to him. "You need to start taking more responsibility around here, Mike. Your dad was younger than you when he took --"

Mike snaps, "I'm not my dad, okay?"

It's always been a sensitive topic. For both Mike and Leroy Hanlon. Mike doesn't like being compared to his father, nor does he really like talking about him at all. Even about the supposed good times. Or his mother for that matter, but his grandfather doesn't seem to see it the way he does. Although Mike knows his grandfather has his share of pointed stares, dirty whispers, and foul insults, he also knows his grandfather can handle it better. He just doesn't like that his grandfather expects the same of him, because he's not his grandfather either. It just feels as though he expects Mike to be more like his father.

"Yeah," Leroy says, almost understandingly. "Look at me, son," he says, his eyes still stern. "Look at me!"

Mike turns towards him, angry and uncomfortable.

"There are two places you can be in this world," Leroy says. "You can be out here like us or you can be in there, like them," he points at the sheep. Mike looks away as he grabs his own arm. "You waste time hemming and hawing, and someone else is going to make that choice for you. Except you won't know it until you feel that bolt between your eyes."

He points his finger at Mike's forehead and Mike is sure he can actually _feel_ it. The pressure of the gun against his forehead and the coldness of the bolt as it pierces through flesh and rips through the skull, scrambling the brain and causing death instantly. He knows deep down that his grandfather is only trying to help, only trying to teach him a life lesson, but it doesn't make him feel any better. Especially since he knows that's not his grandfather's intention. He tries to ignore the sounds of the sheep bleating as another is let in, only to die.

The school bell rings, the final bell of the school year. Summer has come.

Eddie Kaspbrak, Bill Denbrough, and Richie Tozier leave their classroom, Eddie explaining, or at least attempting to explain, how the Bar Mitzvah works as they walk down the hallway, passing by the other students.

"So, there's this church full of Jews, right? And Stan has to take this super Jewy test," Eddie says.

"But how's it work?" Bill asks, still confused.

Eddie frowns and closes his eyes, lifting up his hands.

"They slice the tip of his dick off," he says, trying not to flinch with disgust and pain at the mere thought.

"But then Stan will have nothing left!" Richie says, grinning.

"That's true," Eddie says, now grinning.

"Wait up, you guys!" Stan calls as he catches up with them.

"Hey, Stan, what happens at the Bar Mitzvah, anyways?" Bill asks. "Ed say they slice the tip of your --" he starts to stutter, just a little. "-- dick off," he finishes just as they turn a corner.

"Yeah, and I think the rabbi's gonna pull down your pants, turn to the crowd and say, 'Where's the beef?'" Richie says and they all chuckle as they push their way through the students.

"At the Bar Mitzvah, I read from the Torah, and then I make a speech and suddenly, I become a man," Stan explains.

"I could think of funner ways to become a man," Richie says.

"'More fun' you mean," Stan says as they unintentionally pass by Henry Bowers and his gang of goons.

"Oh shit," Richie mutters as all four of the bullies stare pointedly at the four of them.

Belch Higgins is smirking while Patrick Hockstetter starts grinning. Vic Criss is staring at them menacingly while Bowers is glaring a glare that borders vicious. Richie doesn't miss how Hockstetter licks his lower lip, pointedly looking at _him_. He doesn't want to think about the implication. Bill also doesn't miss how Hockstetter waggles his eyebrows at _him_ , his grin growing all the more nasty.

"Think they'll sign my yearbook?" Richie asks Bill. "'Dear Richie, sorry for taking a hot, steaming dump in your backpack last March'," he says as Gretta Keene passes by and bumps into Stan, though she doesn't pay attention or look at all like she cared. Her mind is clearly focused on something else. "'Have a good summer.'"

Gretta ignores the sound of kids chattering happily about their plans for summer and instead storms into the girls' bathroom. Her friend points to the first stall and Gretta clenches her fists, the grip on her doll tightening, as she smells the putrid stink of cigarette smoke.

 _Typical of **Beaver** -ly_, she thinks.

She grunts, almost growling, and slams her foot into the stall door. Inside the bathroom stall, Beverly Marsh jumps at the sound of the door banging, already knowing who it is.

"Are you in there by yourself, Beaver-ly?" Gretta asks. "Or do you have half the guys in the school with you, huh, slut?" she spits as Beverly puts her cigarette out on the wall, frowning. "I know you're in there, little shit. I can smell you. No wonder you don't have any friends," she says as one of the girls fills a trash bag with sink water.

"Which is it, Gretta? Am I a slut or a little shit?" Beverly asks. "Make up your mind," she says, knowing the real reason she doesn't have any friends.

The rumors. They weren't true, Beverly knew, but that didn't matter. Not in Derry, not at all. Once gossip spread it was like a wildfire that couldn't be put out. And she didn't have any friends because boys thought of her as a slut and girls didn't want to be bullied by Gretta too. Nobody wanted to be associated with the school slut. Beverly didn't blame the people who didn't want to be her friend because they were afraid of Gretta, but she did get lonely a lot of the time.

"You're trash," Gretta says, glaring at the stall door. Beverly can hear the girls laughing and has an idea as to what's coming. "We just wanted to remind you," she says as the girl pulls the trash bag into the stall next to Beverly's, getting ready to dump it right on her head.

"Such a loser," another girl says.

The girls continue laughing as Beverly puts her backpack over her head, shielding herself from the disgusting garbage and dirty sink water that gets dumped. She bites her lips and crinkles her nose at the foul smell and wonders if the backpack is even salvageable. If it isn't, she'll either have to ask for a new one, which she doesn't want to do, or next year she's stuck with a stinking backpack with a stain on it. A constant reminder of this moment, which Gretta will be glad to constantly repeat. Neither options are very good. She could use perfume to cover the smell, but she doesn't think that will bode over well with her father...

"Well, at least now you'll smell better," Gretta says tauntingly.

"Gross," one of the girls say, still laughing.

Gretta has her arms folded over her chest. Her doll, that greatly resembles herself, and even has the same clothes that she does, still in her hands. The only difference between the real Gretta Keene and the doll is that the doll has black buttons for eyes, not even blue like Gretta's, and unlike Gretta, who is grinning cruelly, the doll looks to be frowning, though none of the girls take notice. The thing is, when Gretta found the doll, it had been smiling a childish smile.

All of the girls in the bathroom, except Beverly, have dolls that resemble themselves. All with black buttons for eyes that shine and even shimmer in the light. All of the dolls, when they were found, had been smiling. Now, they're all frowning the same frown.

"You know, _Beaver_ -ly," Gretta says, uncrossing her arms and holding up her doll, brushing her fingers through its ponytail that matches her own. "I hear the circus is coming to town. They're even supposed to be rebuilding Neibolt for it," she says, her grin widening nastily. "I'll bet they'll let you join. You might have to fuck your way in, but that's not a whole lot different than what you've got going on right now. Is it?"

Beverly frowns as the girls laugh once more. The insult is both new and isn't. She had heard too that the circus was coming to Derry and they they were rebuilding Neibolt, where it was going to be held. Everybody in Derry had heard about it, of course. And she thinks she would be excited, if it didn't mean more people, ones she didn't even know personally, would hear the rumors and more people she didn't even know would judge her.

"Did _you_ get a ticket, Beaver-ly?" Gretta asks, still grinning. "Or does the circus have a No-Slut Policy?"

The girls all laugh even more cruelly, not a single one of them noticing how the frown on Gretta's doll deepens before it looks like its scowling. Viciously. They don't even notice how all of the other dolls copy Gretta's and how they all start to scowl.

"Let's go, girls," Gretta says as they head towards the door. "Have a nice summer, Beaver-ly. Try not to fuck any ringmasters for entry."

Beverly lowers the backpack from above her head, surveying the damage and trying not to cry. She hears one of the girls call her pathetic. She wonders if that's true, and wonders if whoever's running the circus already knows about the rumors, because she hasn't gotten a ticket. She's positive it's supposed to be the dolls because they didn't start popping up until the news about the circus and Neibolt did and only a few of the girls, Gretta and her friends included, have gotten them.

It seems kind of creepy, in a way, but the girls who have gotten the dolls don't seem to think so. The excitement for the circus seems to have evaporated any suspicion as to why the dolls look exactly like them even though nobody knows who the ringmaster of the circus is. Or who's even paying for Neibolt's rebuilding for that matter.

Outside, Bill, Eddie, Richie, and Stan are all emptying the contents of their backpacks into the trash cans.

"Best feeling ever," Stan says happily.

"Yeah?" Richie says. "Try tickling your pickle for the first time."

"Hey, what do you guys wanna do tomorrow?" Eddie asks, ignoring what Richie just said.

"I start my training," Richie says, adjusting his glasses.

"Wait, what training?" Eddie asks, confused.

" _Street Fighter_ ," Richie says.

"Is that how you wanna spend your summer? Inside of an arcade?" Eddie asks.

"Beats spending it inside of your mother," Richie retorts. "Oh!" he lifts his arm, hoping to get a high-five from Stan, who instead grabs his wrist and lowers his arm back down.

"What if we go to the quarry?" Stan asks.

"What about the..." Bill is about to suggest a place, but then he starts to stutter.

Georgie has talked of nothing else since October, since the Bill made him the boat. He'd come back from the storm, surprisingly happier than when he had left, and told Bill all about his new friend who had saved his boat. Bill didn't really care when Georgie said he'd almost lost the boat after only one run, that wasn't as important as the fact that Georgie had met and spoken to a stranger who, according to Georgie, was dressed in a clown suit and had been in the sewer. What made Bill even more upset was the fact that the old lady from down the street said she'd caught Georgie in the storm drain, as though the storm was about to sweep him away or he had purposefully tried crawling into it. Bill hadn't been happy to find out that the supposed clown was the one who actually had pulled Georgie into the drain.

To Bill's annoyance, Georgie hadn't even really cared about that. All he cared about was the clown he had met, Robert Gray, though apparently some people call him "Bob", or his performer name, Pennywise the Dancing Clown. Despite the fact that Bill and their dad always told him not to talk to strangers, much less take stuff from them, he had taken a doll and a balloon from the clown and was adamant that Pennywise was his friend, had shielded him from the storm, and had saved his boat. He didn't even seem to realize what kind of danger he could've been in and how things could have gone much worse.

Mostly, Bill was unhappy because Georgie could've gotten hurt or even kidnapped, because he was pretty sure there wasn't anyone by the name of Robert Gray in Derry. What made him even more unhappy, however, was the fact that their parents hadn't even really seemed to care about what had happened or what could have happened. They didn't even seem to acknowledge Georgie at all that day. They had been too busy fighting by the time he had come back, his ear trapped between the old lady's fingers and a grin on his face. Georgie hadn't even understood what they were fighting about or even why, or who the stranger in the house was, but Bill certainly did. Before and after Georgie came back, he had to hear every single word, because neither his mom nor his dad realized he was still at home.

Bill grits his teeth in annoyance, hating his stutter almost as much as his mom.

"Georgie w-w-wants to go to the B-b-Buh-b..." he tries to speak, hating how his friends all stare at him with pity. "Barrens," he forces out.

All three of them give him a funny look, though Eddie looks more disgusted than Stan and Richie do.

"Why?" Stan asks.

"Does he still honestly think the circus is in the sewers?" Richie asks.

"Yeah," Bill says quietly. "Even thinks he found right where it's at."

"Did you tell him that's literally impossible?" Eddie asks. "And that he shouldn't be talking to creepy guys in clown suits? Especially if one is somehow in a sewer? Which is one of the most disgusting and unsanitary places anyone could ever go in?"

"Yeah," Bill says. "But he wants to see the circus... and it's better than being at ho--"

He stops, but not because of his stutter. He instead chooses to stop because _home_ isn't the word he would use. Not anymore. It hasn't been a home since October. Just a house. All four boys are silent, the other three because they all know exactly why Bill stopped talking.

"Right," Stan says, breaking the awkward silence and smiling awkwardly. "Well, if Georgie wants to go, we're in."

Bill manages a small smile, but his heart isn't in it. Eddie then changes the subject, but it makes the conversation even more grim.

"Betty Ripsom's mom," he says quietly.

Stan turns around as Richie and Bill turn to look. Mrs. Ripsom is standing in front of a police car with Sheriff Bowers and another officer, all three of them staring at the school. The officers look bored out of their minds, clearly thinking its a waste of time, while Mrs. Ripsom has a sad, almost desperate expression on her pale face.

"Is she really expecting to see her come out of that school?" Stan asks.

"I don't know," Eddie says. "As if Betty Ripsom's been hiding in Home Ec. for the last few weeks."

"You think they'll actually find her?" Stan asks.

"Sure. In a ditch. All decomposed, covered in worms and maggots. Smelling like Eddie's mom's underwear," Richie says.

Eddie makes a disgusted face.

"Shut up! That's freaking disgusting!" he says unhappily.

"She's not dead," Bill says quietly, not wanting to think about how that could have been Georgie. "She's missing."

Richie frowns.

"Sorry, Bill," he says, adjusting his glasses. "She's missing," he says, turning back towards Eddie and now looking thoughtful. "Isn't she one of the girls who had those dumb dolls?"

"Yeah, I guess," Stan says.

"Well, maybe she up and joined the circus," Richie says, shrugging. "Wouldn't you? It'd get you out of Derry, wouldn't it?"

"How does that make any sense?" Eddie asks. "The circus came _to_ Derry."

"Yeah, and it'll probably leave just as fast," Richie retorts. "Can't blame Betty for wanting a free ride out, can you?"

Richie stops, but the damage has been done. Bill thinks, at least Richie has the decency to look regretful for his choice of words. There's another awkward silence and once again, Stan is the one who breaks it.

"So... the Barrens then?" he asks.

"Until the circus comes," Bill says, shrugging slightly.

He still thinks its better than being in that house. He doesn't think he can call it a home anymore and he'd rather Georgie focus on the circus and the rebuilding of Neibolt and maybe even enjoy the actual circus when it does come than have to deal with what's waiting at that house. If it makes Georgie happy, and Bill is with him every time he goes out, he's quite sure he's not going to be letting Georgie out of his sight for a very long time and he hasn't since October, then Bill supposes he's happy too. The circus might even be fun... assuming their dad lets them go.

"We have to p-p-puh-pick up G-G-G--" Bill stutters, gritting his teeth with annoyance.

"Yeah, yeah," Richie says, stopping him. Bill sighs as they start walking. "You know the Barrens aren't that bad. Who doesn't love playing pretend circus and looking for fake or creepy clowns while splashing around in shitty water?"

Richie completely misses Bowers walking right up behind him and isn't able to move away before Bowers is grabbing the back of his backpack and throws him into Stan, knocking the both of them to the ground. Both boys grunt in pain as Stan's yamaka falls off his head. Hockstetter bends down and picks it up, looming over Stan.

"Nice Frisbee, flamer," Hockstetter taunts.

"Give it back!" Stan says, making a grab for it but Hockstetter stands up, grinning and laughing as he tosses it like a Frisbee and it goes right into the open window of a passing bus.

"Fucking losers!" Hockstetter laughs.

Eddie gags as Belch Higgins burps right in his face and then shoves him to the side. Bill glares at Bowers as he shoves past him, knocking into his shoulder.

"Loser," Bowers says.

"Y-y-y-you s-suck, Bowers!" Bill stutters angrily, still glaring.

"Shut up, Bill," Eddie whispers, knowing better than to pick a fight with Bowers and his gang.

Bowers stops walking and turns around.

"You s-s-s-say something B-B-B-buh-Billy?" Bowers stutters mockingly as he walks up on Bill. "You got a free ride this year 'cause your slut mom took off. Ride's over, Denbrough," Bowers says, now looming over Bill.

Henry stops when he hears indistinct radio chatter. Police radio, he knows. He sees his father looking right at him and watches as the man pulls off his sunglasses. The threat in his eyes is clear. If he dares make a scene here at the school, while his dad's on duty, he's getting another beating.

"This summer's gonna be a hurt train for you and your faggot friends," Bowers says.

He then licks the palm of his hand and rubs it on Bill's cheek, the younger boy immediately pulling away, disgusted. Hockstetter laughs.

"I hear redheads are good fucks," Hockstetter says, grinning at Bill in a way he doesn't like. "Is that true?"

Bill only settles for glaring as Hockstetter pointedly licks his lower lip, flicking his tongue out before they walk away and head towards Belch's car where Vic is waiting. The boys watch as Belch gets into the driver's seat and Hockstetter climbs in through the window, still staring at Bill.

"I wish he'd go missing," Richie says.

"He's probably the one doing it," Eddie says darkly as the car engine revs.

Meanwhile, at another school exist, Ben Hanscom is pulling his bike while holding his display and listening to _New Kids on the Block_. He doesn't realize he's blocking the stairway and he doesn't notice Beverly Marsh walking up behind him.

"You gonna let me go by?" Beverly asks, surprising Ben and making him turn around. "Or is there a secret password or something?"

"Oh. Um, sorry," Ben says awkwardly.

"Sorry isn't..."

Ben accidentally drops his display, which clatters on the ground and then falls apart. He bends down to pick it up, letting go of his bike and trying to put it back together.

"A password," Beverly says, now feeling kind of bad.

Ben bumbles and then his bike falls over. It too clatters to the ground. He tries again to put his display back together and fails. Beverly's frown deepens as she thinks. She guesses it wouldn't hurt to give him a warning...

"Henry and his goons are over by the west entrance," she says. "So you should be fine."

She feels bad for him, because he's the new kid at school. More accurately, he's the newest target for Henry Bowers and his gang to bully. Everyone knows that. Even he has to realize it.

"Oh, I wasn't --"

"Everyone knows he's looking for you," Beverly says both truthfully and empathetic. Ben sighs and she can't help but smile as she spots his headphones. Curiosity gets the best of her. "What you listening to?"

She takes the headphones right off his head, holding them by her ears, and then grins in amusement as she listens to the music.

" _New Kids on the Block_ ," she says, still grinning.

"I don't even like them," Ben says, obviously lying. "I was just --"

"Wait. You're the new kid, right? Now I get it," Beverly says, still smiling.

"There's nothing to get," Ben says quietly.

"I'm just messing with you," Beverly says, putting the headphones back on his head. "I'm Beverly Marsh."

"Yeah. I know that 'cause we're in the same class," Ben says. "Social studies... and you were... I'm Ben. But pretty much everybody just calls me..."

"The new kid," Beverly says sympathetically. "Well, Ben, there are worse things to be called." She sees his yearbook sticking out of his unzipped backpack. "Let me sign this."

She grabs it, smiling, though it dims instantly when she sees that nobody at all has signed it. She doubts Ben would've really turned down any offers, which means he hasn't gotten any. Just like her. With a purple pen, she signs her name and adds two little hearts, unaware of how Ben is staring at her. A stare as though he's seeing a girl for the first time, and he likes her. It's clear he wants to smile, but he doesn't want her to think he's a dork.

"Stay cool, Ben from Soc class," Beverly says, giving him back his yearbook.

"Uh, yeah," Ben says awkwardly. "You too, Beverly."

"Hang tough, new kid on the block," Beverly says as she walks away.

Ben chuckles. His heart and his belly feel funny. They both feel fluttery and he's sure his heart isn't supposed to be beating as fast as it is, though he doesn't really care, and it feels like he has butterflies fluttering under his skin. He also knows he's smiling like a dork. The word "friend" flickers in his mind... but he wants her to think he's cool...

"' _Please Don't Go, Girl_ '," he calls to her, still smiling dorkily. Boyishly. Then he realizes Beverly is too far away to actually hear him unless he yells it and then embarrasses the both of them. "That's the name of another _New Kids on the Block_ song..." he sighs and shakes his head slightly, realizing just how dorky he's acting. He hopes nobody saw that as he pushes his bike and carries his broken display, his headphones dragging behind him, the song still playing.

Bill is alone now, pushing his own bike, Silver, back towards his house. Each step forward is like a march to something horrible. Like a family reunion he definitely doesn't want to go to. He distracts himself by reciting the poem his mom wrote to help with his stutter, though it doesn't help very much. It only reminds him of her and then now all it does is make him angry.

"'He thrusts his fists against the posts'..." he stutters on his words. "'He thrusts his fists against'..." he continues stuttering, growing annoyed with his stutter and even more angry with his mom, though he knows getting mad doesn't help. Though that just makes it worse. "Shit!" he sighs as he walks up to his house. "'Post'."

Bill parks his bike outside the garage, which is closed, which means his dad isn't working on a project right now but the car is outside, which means he's home. Bill doesn't really want to go in the house, but he knows he has to. Ever since his mom left, his dad wants him in the house on time instead of waiting outside for Georgie to get off the bus despite what happened in October or even out with his friends. It's almost as though his parents don't even care that Georgie could've been swept away by the storm or kidnapped and they would've been none the wiser. He isn't sure which parent is worse right now but Bill wonders if he should be happy that Georgie was out that day, because he didn't have to listen to their parents screaming at each other.

In a gesture _that_ might have been considered thoughtful, Zack Denbrough had come home from work early that day, only to catch his wife in their bed with another man. Bill hadn't even realized the man had come to the house and he thinks that's another thing he resents his mom for, because she either hadn't paid enough attention to realize that Bill hadn't gone with Georgie or she just didn't care that Bill was still in the house.

Ever since that day, it had been nothing but screaming matches between their parents, as though trying to see which one could be the loudest, longest, and the angriest. Tearful shrieking from their mom and angry bellowing from their dad. What was worse was that once Sharon had filed for a divorce, Zack had been reeking of beer and whiskey and any adult drink that had a strong, foul scent to it. They were the kind of drinks that Bill and Georgie weren't allowed to touch, and not just because they were for adults. Bill had only been trying to reach for the TV remote and barely even touched it, only trying to move it out of the way, before his father had yelled at him, scaring him.

It had apparently been going on for a while too, the affair. Even before October. That day just happened to be bad for everyone but all their parents cared about was themselves, not even Georgie. Bill was certain that, other than the old lady on that day, he was the only one that cared about Georgie's well-being and afterwards, at all. He didn't know for sure what Georgie thought of it all, but even Georgie, so young and naive, had to understand the simple truth, no matter how harsh and unfair it was: Mom was going away, either for a very long time or forever. Or maybe those meant the same thing, Bill wasn't sure himself. But she wasn't coming back.

It bothers him mostly because it isn't fair. It wasn't fair to their father, it wasn't fair to Bill, and most importantly (in Bill's mind) it wasn't fair to Georgie. Their dad was getting everything in the divorce, mostly because their mom didn't care about any of it but then again why would she? Her new man was loaded. Dad was getting the car, the house, wouldn't have to worry about alimony, and Bill and Georgie. Bill supposes he should be happy that he and Georgie weren't going to be separated, but he still thinks it's unfair. The questions bother him especially every time they come to his thoughts and refuse to go away.

How could she do that to them? How could their father make it Bill and Georgie's problem? What had they done to deserve it? Being left behind by their mom and blamed by their dad? That last one was mostly directed at Bill, because ever since she had left their dad was mostly angry at him and ignored Georgie. His father was very adamant that it was somehow Bill's fault that it happened. Bill didn't know how that made sense, but his father seemed pretty sure about it.

"I love you and Georgie, Bill, but this is something I have to do," his mom had told him after the divorce was finalized, though it took a lot of convincing for Zack to sign the papers, the day before she had left. "When you're older, you'll understand."

Bill was pretty sure he didn't have to be older to understand. She wasn't happy, not with their dad, anyway. That other guy, whatever his name was, Bill didn't know or care (he hated him too), made her happy. She said he made her feel young again but Bill thought that was a lame excuse. A really shitty one, actually. Was that really what being young was about? Ditching the family you already have to make a new one? Or just ditching your family for a wealthy man? Leaving your children in poor town while going to the Bahamas for your honeymoon? Bill could understand his father's anger more than he could understand his mother's reasoning. He felt his dad had every right to be angry, but he didn't think that his dad drowning himself in booze, cheap or not, was very helpful.

He just thought it wasn't fair because she was an adult. She was one of the people who got to make all of the decisions, even for people, like Bill, who disagreed with them. Bill wasn't an adult, he couldn't fight with her on it. And it was obvious she didn't care how Bill and Georgie felt about the matter. She was walking out on them, walking out on her family. Bill didn't have to be older to understand that it was really selfish of her. New husband or not, she could take them. Or at least just Georgie, if only for his safety and well-being. And he'd probably be happier living a life outside of Derry.

Bill knew she was just getting a free pass out of Derry, just like Richie suggested about Betty. Especially since New Guy was rich and both lived and worked out of state. She just didn't want Bill or Georgie to ruin that for her. Bill could accept it, even if he hated her for it, but he was mostly concerned about Georgie.

He didn't want Georgie to have to worry about their dad's anger being vented out on them, possibly in a drunken fit. He had taken to yelling at Bill more often, since October, and often stunk of alcohol. He didn't want Georgie to have to grow up without a mom, though maybe not having one so selfish was for the better. But for who? He just didn't want Georgie to have to endure the same bullying Bill did. From Bowers and Hockstetter especially.

That was part of why he hated his mom. She just wanted to get out and avoided the consequences of her actions, including their dad's anger that was like a weed, growing more and more every day and taking over a once nice garden. He blamed her for leaving him and Georgie behind to deal with the consequences of her actions. To deal with the broken pieces of a once happy family. It just wasn't _fair_.

And it certainly didn't help that Derry was a small town with the nosiest people on the planet, all of whom loved spreading gossip. Small town, faster spread. That was when the bullying got worse, for Bill at least. He was used to receiving snide remarks, mocking stutters, and hurtful words about his condition, but it was even worse having to listen to people talking about "The Denbrough Slut,"and the worst part of it was that not always were Bowers and Hockstetter referring to his mom. He just didn't want Georgie to have to endure it too. Bill could tolerate it, he guessed, if only for Georgie's sake.

If it meant having to take up his mom's role in the family, like cooking and cleaning and taking care of Georgie, then so be it. He didn't have a problem with making sure Georgie was taken care of, but it did hurt that his father made sure to insult every little thing he did. And if it meant going down to the Barrens to avoid their father, and hopefully Bowers and his gang, then he would do it. If Georgie was happy, then so was Bill.

But their dad acted now acted as though Bill would up and leave any day now, just like their mom. Now he always expected Bill to be home on time and act the way he wanted him to. Make lunch and dinner, clean and do everything his mom used to. No complaints. He didn't mind, Georgie was all that mattered, but it was still hurtful to have his father insult everything he could think of, always comparing Bill to his mom. From making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, to cooking a chicken and potato dinner that Bill had _thought_ was nice. One he accidentally burnt himself making. He just didn't dare snap at his dad to make it himself if he didn't like it. He was too scared to do that. And somehow Bill didn't clean the house properly. He didn't do it the same way his mom did, so it was wrong. Bill still never dared to snap at his dad and tell him to do it himself.

Bill tries not to inhale too much as he walks into the house and he tries his hardest not to gag at the disgusting and strong smell of beer and whiskey, smells he's unfortunately learned these past few months have a distinct difference. He sees his dad sitting in front of the TV, which is playing some weird looking show with a pretty looking woman with curly brown hair and a bunch of children. He's sure they're talking about how much they "loved the clown" and he sees the beer bottle in his dad's hand, an angry expression on his dad's face. The same one he's had for the past few months.

He tries to walk past the living room and go up to his room, despite how badly he wants to wait for Georgie, but his father's voice stops him in his tracks.

"You're home on time," Zack says, his tone dry. "That's surprising."

Bill swallows. He doesn't like the feeling he's getting. His stomach feels jittery and it feels cold in the room even though it's summer and hot outside. It's almost like a sense of foreboding. Almost as though he's walking on eggshells or glass that's about to break, or even walking through a minefield. He doesn't like any of those thoughts.

"Y-y-y-you," Bill grits his teeth. _This_ stuttering isn't because of his actual condition. "You s-said b-b-be on t-t-t-time," he forces himself to say. It is what his dad told him to start doing, all the way back in October. Not once was Bill ever late. Yet they always had this conversation, it seemed.

Zack scoffs. "Yeah," he says, letting the beer bottle slip from his fingers and fall to the floor.

Bill can't help but flinch at the sound of glass shattering and he watches as the shards scatter across the floor and beer splatters. He already knows he's the one who's going to be cleaning it, and he better find all of the pieces before someone's foot does or _he'll_ be the one getting in trouble for it. Even if its his own foot, he knows.

"At least _someone_ in this house knows how to listen," Zack says, his pale eyes drifitng over to Bill. He's annoyed. "Wife can't listen to the simple vow of being faithful, Georgie can't listen when I tell him to stay out of my office and not touch my stuff."

Bill feels a lump forming in his throat.

"You know what Georgie did yesterday?" Zack asks, still staring at Bill with that annoyed look in his eyes. "Guess."

"I... I don't... I don't know..." Bill lies.

Georgie told him exactly what he did once he had finished. Before Bill could stop him. Before Bill could even realize what he was doing. He clearly hadn't even realized it was something he wasn't supposed to do. Bill knew it was going to be bad when their dad found out, but Georgie had just been so happy that Bill couldn't be mad at him.

"He took a map from my office," Zack says. "Said he wanted to find the clown."

He then scowls, his face contorting into an ugly look.

"Drew all over the damn thing too," Zack says. "I can't have a faithful wife, I can't even have a simple fucking map for my work!" he shouts and Bill flinches again. "And honesty is obviously a thing of the fucking past!" he bellows and Bill's lip quivers. "What do I do, Bill? What do I do? I'll tell you what I do! I work my ass off to bring money into this house, I pay the damn bills and I put food on the table and what do I get? I get a whore of a wife and a son who can't ask for something before taking it and then ruins the whole damn thing!"

Bill swallows again, not liking how his eyes feel hot and stingy.

"Can't have much of anything, can I, Bill?" Zack asks quietly. "Can't have a faitfhul wife, can't have a _normal_ son--" Bill flinches again, the words like a knife cutting deeply into him. Hearing it from his own father is infinitely worse than hearing it from bowers. Especially with the way he spat the word, as though it was a foul taste on his tongue. One he wanted to get rid of. "-- and I can't even have a son who doesn't touch things that aren't his."

Both of them miss how the woman with the curly hair is suddenly staring at the screen. If they were watching, in their perspective it would look as though she was glaring at the camera and maybe even the cameraman and even the people behind him. In reality, she's glaring directly at Zack Denbrough. As are the children.

Their expressions are exactly the same. Unimpressed. Angry. Anger then turns livid. It's almost as though they're sharing thoughts and they don't like what they see, not only that but the expressions on their faces are so identical, it's almost as though only _one_ person is glaring at the screen. The person just happens to have multiple faces.

And for the briefest second, the screen flickers. Black and white, though it looks like a bolt of lightning flashes across the screen, a bolt that looks suspiciously like a hand, and the keenest eye would've spotted the angry face, which is painted like a clown's, of a man glaring directly at Zack Denbrough. The screen flickers back to the woman and the children, neither Zack nor Bill noticing, but the angry expressions haven't left their faces.

"And then you know what he asked me, Bill?" Zack asks, chuckling humorlessly. "Draws on my map, tore another one, an accident, I'll bet, and then he asks if he can go to the circus," he spits. "Even asks if you can come to. And all your friends," he continues to stare, though his eyes have hardened. Visibly, even in the dark room. "Who's _Beverly_?"

Bill frowns. He knows about Beverly Marsh, but he's not really all that friendly with her. They kissed for a school play, but that was it. He knew about the rumors, but he didn't believe them. They were just that. Rumors.

"I don't know," Bill says, halfway honest and halfway lying. He doesn't know her all that well, so he can't really say he knows her, can he?

Zack scoffs as his fists clench.

"That's what your mother said to me. More than once," he says through gritted teeth, almost hissing. "I remember it. I answered the phone and a guy was asking for her. She tried to tell me it was a wrong number. A wrong _Sharon_. Funny what you realize when you look back on things. How _nervous_ she looked," he frowns. "Kids don't think about how much money shit like that costs, do they? No, no, no, they're just like their mothers, aren't they? Greedy? Taking away what really matters? Always expecting hand-outs, aren't they?"

His expression flickers as the woman tilts her head to the side, still staring directly at him. Zack's eyes turn vacant for a brief moment, as though his mind isn't with him. He shakes his head and the woman frowns, looking faintly surprised. He looks down at the broken bottle and the spilled beer.

"Clean that up," he says. "And then go to your room."

Bill turns to go to the kitchen and get a towel as his dad gets up, but a hand grabs his arm. He tries not to cry or let out a sound that would show how much it hurts. His skin starts to _crawl_ as his father pulls him close, almost to where his back is touching his dad's stomach.

"Do yourself a favor," Zack says quietly, almost whispering it in Bill's ear as his fingers dig into Bill's arm. " _Never_ lie to me again and don't ever try to hide it from me. _Ever_. And don't ask me for the money to go to that circus. If you want to go, get it yourself."

And even more strangely, he pats Bill on the head, almost affectionately, but a coldness sweeps over Bill when he feels fingers running down the back of his neck and then on his shoulder. He's certain his dad is breathing more deeply than necessary. His dad lets him go and simply walks away, as though what he had done wasn't completely weird and creepy. Bill trembles, his hand shaking, as and he holds his arm where his dad grabbed him. It still throbs with pain under his hand. He tries his hardest not to cry even as he hears the woman talking on the TV, more jovially now. He doesn't notice how _forced_ the delight in her voice is. The same with the children.

"The circus is coming to town, boys and girls!" Bill turns his head to look at the TV, his eyes pink and glassy. "Are you all going?" she asks the children.

"Yeah!" they all yell happily.

"But how do you pay for it?" one little girl asks curiously. "I don't have any money..."

"That's all right"! the woman says cheerfully, grinning merrily and almost childishly. Bill almost envies her enthusiasm. "The tickets are free, boys and girls! You've just got to find one!"

"How do we find one?" a little boy asks.

"Very easily!" the woman says, giggling. "They're all over town, you know! Dolls and buttons, Billy!" the woman tells the boy, her grin now knowing. " _Dolls_ and buttons! Just follow the red balloons!"

She then looks back at the screen and even though Bill isn't right in front of it, he can't help but think she's talking to him. And not just as an advertisement.

"Come to the circus, boys and girls! Just find your ticket by following the red balloons!" she then grins, rather strangely. Almost creepily. "Bring your siblings, brothers and sisters, and all of your friends!"

"What if you can't find a ticket?" the little boy, who may or may not be named Billy, asks curiously.

"Well, that's easy!" the woman giggles. "But no spoilers, Billy-boy!"

Some of the kids give out disappointed aw's at that, though they're all still grinning.

"Dolls and buttons, Billy!" the woman says, still grinning knowingly. "Dolls and buttons!" her grin stretches, almost ear to ear. "The fun's just getting started!"

The little boy starts to clap and cheer and then the rest of the kids copy him.

"Why was he even watching this?" Bill asks, confused. "What channel is this?" He shuts off the TV, missing how the woman grins directly at _him_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Good? Bad? I'm going to assume the tags I've put up are correct. If not right now, they will be  
> \- See you in chapter four!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Warning for this chapter, which I will probably put up as a warning tag, is fat shaming. That Ben was cute. Chubby and cute. Orig Ben was just big. Also, homophobic language is used again in this chapter. Just a head's up  
> \- Um, what else? Right, that scene where Mike is in the alley? I changed it up a bit so let me know how it was in the comments below!  
> \- Also, another warning, though I don't think there's a tag for it, is the bit with Hockstetter towards the end of this chapter. But also, the Patrick bit in this is a bit different than the movie  
> \- Oh, also, Georgie is obviously in this chapter and the Corcorans are mentioned  
> \- Other than that, I think this is a good chapter. Let me know in the comments below!

Mike is riding his bike alone through Derry. He thinks it's nice, the rides back and forth from home and Quality Meats. Peaceful, even. He carefully peddles through the street and stops in front of the store, propping his bike against the post. He hears something as he's grabbing a package.

"Get in!" he hears Henry Bowers, one of the boys that's been bullying him, shout from down the street. He sees Belch Higgins' car, and it's heading straight for him.

"Creep!" he hears a woman yell back.

He pants as he grabs his bike and quickly pushes it into the alley by the store and hides behind the trash cans and a couple of garbage bags as Belch drives by.

"Oh, Jesus," Mike mutters to himself, his heart beating quickly.

He doesn't even go to the same school as Bowers and his gang, his grandfather home-schools him, but he's still a target of bullying. And not just because of his parents. Mike's breathing is heavy as he pushes his bike towards the back door. It's padlocked shut, but he supposes its better to leave his bike back here and have to walk back and forth than stay out there and risk Belch running over his bike. With or without Mike on it.

The hairs on the back of his neck suddenly stand up as he hears a soft growling behind him and the sound of the chain rattling. He turns around to look at the door and jumps when something hits it from the other side, the chain clinking. Whatever is on the other side is trapped only by an old chain... and then Mike _smells_ it.

It's one thing to smell any kind of food burning. It's another when it's meat in particular. Anything, food and meat or even wood, has a distinct scent. Especially when it's burning. Unfortunately, Mike remembers all too well the smell of burning _flesh_. No matter how hard he tries, he can't ever forget it... and then Mike _sees_ it.

Just like when he was a kid, there's fingers poking through the small opening between the door and the wall but they're not quite able to get even their hand out. The flesh on the fingers is scabbed over, burnt and even charred. Smoldering. Mike doesn't even think anyone with that bad of a burn should be able to keep moving... and then Mike _hears_ it.

The same sounds that have haunted his dreams, turning them into nightmares, since he was a little boy.

"Mike!" he hears his mom screaming from the other side of the door.

She continues screaming as sweat begins to bead down his skin and not from the summer heat. It's a cold sweat of pure fear, pure terror, the same sweat he's often woken up to find himself completely drenched in. He's hot and cold all over, his stomach churning and feeling nauseous from the smell, his ears are ringing, and his mouth feels dry and his back cold. But it's not just the sound of his mom screaming that's haunting him now. It's all of the hands, more than just his mother and father. He counts at least six hands trying to open the door, trying to break free. He can see the smoke, smell it too, hear the crackling of the flames...

"Hurry, son!" he hears his father.

"Help! It burns!" his mother cries as an orange glow peeks through the door...

Mike knows he shouldn't, that he has to be imagining things, again, but it seems _so real_. He'll think later that he might've been hallucinating, his guilt and his fear of that horrible night and the memories working in tandem to haunt and torture him, but he slowly walks up to the door, his feet feeling like cinder blocks in his shoes as the fire starts to roar behind the door and his mother continues screaming.

Then it stops. The hands retreat back behind the door, the smoke disappears, the fire dies, and he can't smell that awful smell anymore... and then all Mike can smell is _rot_. Rot and blood. The foul smell of an animal that's been dead for a while and in the blazing heat... the reek of blood only making it _worse_... the chain suddenly snaps, as though an invisible tool has cut it apart or even an invisible hand has ripped it from the handle, and it falls to the ground. Mike barely registers the sound of metal clanking. He can hear a sheep bleating just as the door opens and then he sees the poor creature hanging from a hook attached to the ceiling.

The curtains are opened, though they're covered in blood, revealing the sheep's mangled body. Mike doesn't even realize the sheep has an unnatural glow to its eyes, which should be black, but they're not. They're an unnatural, ominous shade of yellow. Mike breathes shakily as he watches the sheep dangle from the hook that's impaled through its neck. Blood stains its white wool that looks as though it was once pearly in color, but is only stained with death now. The sheep jerks its body around, flailing effortlessly to try and free itself from the hook, before it simply dangles there.

It then lets out a horrifying cry, the sound of an animal being tortured as it dies, and its stomach suddenly splits open, its bloodied guts and all of its organs, including its _still-beating heart_ , falling out of its body and everything splatters on the floor. Its entire body is opened up and Mike can see its bloodied ribs in its hollowed out corpse. Its head dangles lifelessly against its shoulder but Mike can still see its eyes. They're the only thing glowing in the darkness...

They stare at him, those eyes. They should be dead, unblinking and unseeing, but they _aren't_. They're staring at him, right at him. Shining yellow like two light bulbs in the dark room, though they seem to shimmer gold. He sees the sheep lifting up a leg as though it isn't dead, and he would swear that it looked to be _waving_ at him.

The awful sound of tires screeching startles him and he sees the mean faces of Bowers and Higgins in the front seat of Higgins' car, which is speeding right towards him. Mike grunts as he jumps back and falls to the ground, Higgins not bothering to have slowed down and Mike knows that if he hadn't moved, Higgins wouldn't have stopped... He hears rock music blasting on the car's stereo as Bowers pokes his head out of the window.

"Stay the fuck outta my town!" Bowers snarls at him.

Higgins shows Mike his middle finger as Bowers flicks his cigarette at him. The tires squeal as Higgins floors it. Mike's breathing is still shaky, his heart feeling ready to pop out of his chest like he's a cartoon character, or about to have a heart attack. He gasps when he hears the sound of the chain rattling again, but it's only the Quality Meats employee.

"Mike?" he says, a cloth in his hand and blood on his apron. "Are you okay?"

Mike is pretty sure he is _not okay_. Nothing about what he just saw, hallucination or not, is _okay_. He doesn't feel good. He feels cold in his blood and his bones and hot on his skin even though his sweat still feels cold. His tongue is still dry, his throat constricting, and his hands clammy. He hears the sharp sound of a bird crying, so does the employee, and both look up to see a large bird (monstrously large, Mike thinks) flying above their heads. It's larger than an eagle, not that Mike can see much other than its shadow, but it's circling their heads like a vulture. He swears it looks like it has something attached to its wings, almost like brightly colored feathers, but whatever it is, it's _floating_ above the bird. Like balloons, if they were tied to its wings. Actually, now that Mike looks slightly more closely, he realizes that the bird looks to be _floating_ rather than actually flying.

He jumps when something falls from it. It falls right into his lap, making him jump. It's a doll. Like the dolls he's seen some of the girls in Derry carrying around, which look like themselves and some of them even have the exact same set of clothes that the girls do. It looks just like him. The same dark skin and black hair, the latter looking like yarn that had been brushed until it thinned, with the same white, slightly dirtied t-shirt and the same old blue jeans.

"The hell is that?" the employee asks, looking at the doll and not even the bird.

The monstrously large bird lets out a shrill cry and Mike is sure he can hear carnival music. He sighs, trying to ignore his lack of... _fondness_... for birds. He's heard of it. The circus coming to Derry. He also knows that the dolls didn't start popping up until the news about the circus did. Does that mean this is supposed to be some kind of ticket? He ignores the creep factor of why a doll looks exactly like him, considering the fact that he doesn't know the people who own the circus, or really anyone in Derry for that matter, and holds it to his chest. Maybe the circus will be fun. Better than almost getting run over by Belch Higgins, he thinks grimly.

On the other side of town, a police car passes by the church. Stanley is reciting in Hebrew, practicing for when he's supposed to read from the Torah and become a man. He already knows he isn't doing very well and he also knows that his dad can tell he hasn't studied and practiced, and he isn't impressed. Stan stops when he realizes he's said it wrong. His dad repeats it, saying it correctly. His tone proves Stan right.

"You're not studying, Stanley," his dad says. "How's it going to look? The rabbi's son can't finish his own Torah reading," he can hear his dad sigh. "Take the book to my office. Obviously you're not using it."

Stan does as he's told. Though as he walks into his dad's office, he's hiding his face behind his hand, pretending his head hurts and he's holding the spot, but really he's just hiding his face from his dad. He knows the man doesn't want to look at him and he feels the same way. But he feels a pair of eyes on him as he walks by that painting he doesn't like. He knows who she's supposed to be, but he doesn't like looking at her face. Her eyes are white, her face long and distorted, and she's holding a flute in her long, bony looking fingers. It's astounding how realistic a painting can look, he thinks. And scary. He realizes the painting is lopsided and adjusts it so that it's straight.

He puts the book back in its place on the shelf, sighing heavily. He jumps when he hears a clattering. He slowly turns around, hoping it wasn't his fault and hoping the painting isn't broken or messed up, and realizes the painting isn't what fell. The painting is still on the wall, the woman still there (though Stan wonders where she would even go and thinks he's being stupid) and sees, in front of the painting and on the floor, is a small doll.

It looks just like the ones he's seen the girls at school carrying around. Including Betty Ripsom and Gretta Keene. Except it looks just like _him_. He realizes the door to his dad's office is still open when he hears his dad's distant voice.

"-- for you!"

He didn't even realize how distorted and wrong his dad's voice sounded. Almost as though it wasn't his dad at all, but someone doing a cheap imitation. And not a very good one at that. It's almost like someone doing an imitation of someone else, without really trying. Stan swallows. It's wearing the same clothes as he is, though it isn't wearing a yamaka on its head, and its black button eyes seem to be staring up at him. Were these supposed to be the tickets to that stupid circus? Well, it is summer, he knows they're supposed to be having fun... and he thinks that the circus is a funner place than the sewers... but then... Georgie was telling the truth? About the clown in the sewer? How does that even work?

Stan hesitantly walks towards the doll. Maybe if he tells Bill and Georgie that he's gotten a ticket, then they won't have to go to the Barrens at all. Then he wonders if the others have dolls like themselves... though he wonders why they look like themselves when nobody at all knows who's running the circus. Or why they would buy Neibolt of all places for it. Eddie himself had complained about how long it would take to sanitize and clean out a place like that and then fix it up, and how much money and cleaning it would take... but Stan is admittedly creeped out by the doll... and... he didn't even hear his dad walk near the door... but that had been his dad's voice... hadn't it? But why just throw it on the ground? Unless he was that mad at Stan... but... hadn't Stan shut the door? Or the door had shut itself when he'd walked in?

He sighed as he picked up the doll. He wasn't even aware that the woman in the painting was grinning at him, and her pearl-like eyes were staring directly at him. He doesn't hear the sound of a low growl or distorted voices chanting as the woman in the painting grins, her teeth long and sharp, monstrously sized, as he walks out the door. She giggles to herself as her flute plays itself.

At Eddie's house, he, Bill, Richie, and Georgie are all standing in the kitchen. Georgie is holding his doll, a smile on his face that's almost dopey with how happy it is, while Richie and Bill are grabbing snacks.

"Take everything but the Delicious Deals, guys. My mom loves them," Eddie says as Bill and Richie grab at them. He looks at Georgie, who gives him a childish grin back. "Hey! First you said the storm drain and now you're saying the Barrens... do you not realize how dirty and gross that place is? And..." he lowers his voice. "What if we get caught?"

"We won't, Eds," Bill says. "T-T-The sewers are public works. We're the public, aren't we?"

Richie, who's peeking into another cupboard, sees three shelves worth of pills. All in Eddie's name. He grins a little bit, not even caring that Georgie was with them.

"Hey, Eddie, these your birth control pills?" he asks, pointedly ignoring Bill's glare.

"Yeah, and I'm saving it for your sister. This is private stuff," Eddie says.

Georgie just smiles at them both as they head towards the door. They can hear the TV playing in the other room. Bill doesn't even realize that it's the same exact channel, whichever channel that may be, and the same exact show, whatever show that may be, playing on Eddie's TV. He doesn't even realize its the same woman.

"Eddie Bear, where you boys off to in such a rush?" Mrs. Kaspbrak asks from the living room.

"Um..." Bill starts to stammer, trying to think of an answer. He still stutters as he speaks, "Just my backyard, Mrs. K," he lies. His arm throbs with pain as he does, feeling as though his dad is still gripping it. "I got a new..."

"Sewing machine," Georgie says, still smiling as Bill trails off.

"Yeah," Richie says. "Jeez, spit it out," he starts stuttering mockingly, but not cruelly like Bowers. "Bill!"

Georgie kicks him in the leg anyway, in his shin, and Mrs. Kaspbrak doesn't even seem to notice. Or maybe she just doesn't care since it wasn't Eddie. Richie glares at him, massaging the sore spot, while Eddie smiles slightly.

"Okay," Mrs. Kaspbrak says. "Oh, and sweetie, don't go rolling around on the grass. Especially if it's just been cut. You know how bad your allergies can get."

"Yes, Mom. Let's go," Eddie says, wanting to save himself any more embarrassment.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Mrs. Kaspbrak asks.

"Fun at the circus, boys and girls!" the hostess says on the TV as Eddie sighs and walks towards his mom. He's even more annoyed since Bill and Richie couldn't just walk out and wait for him outside. Georgie too.

He kisses his mom on the cheek and Richie snickers behind his hand.

"Do you want one from me too, Mrs. K.?" Richie asks.

Eddie starts shoving him and Bill while Georgie kicks him in the leg again.

"Ow! You little sonuva--"

Mrs. Kaspbrak just chuckles slightly.

"Sorry, Mommy," Eddie quickly apologizes as he shuts the door behind him.

The four of them are riding their bikes through Derry, Georgie on the back of Bill's bike and holding onto his brother. They pass by the Derry library, where Ben is writing a poem he wrote himself for Beverly on a postcard.

"'Your hair is winter fire, January embers... My heart burns there too'."

That doesn't sound too lame... right? Girls like poetry, right? Or does Beverly not like poetry? Or... does she like poetry? Ben honestly has no idea...

"Slow down!" he looks up and sees four kids on their bikes outside, though a smaller boy is riding with one of them, a doll in his hand. Ben doesn't even realize that the doll is looking directly at him, nor does he realize it's grinning.

"Hi-ho, Silver!" Bill and Georgie shout together. "Away!"

"Your old lady bike's too fast for us!" Richie shouts.

"How's it an old lady bike if it's fast?" Georgie asks.

"Just ignore him, Georgie!" Eddie says.

"I heard that!"

Ben jumps slightly when a book is slammed right next to him. He tries to ignore the feeling of loneliness he's getting from seeing the five boys... even a younger kid has more friends than him...

"Found it," the librarian says. "Isn't it summer vacation? I would think you'd be ready to take a break from the books."

"I like it in here," Ben says. It's not a total lie, because he does like to read, but he would prefer to be hanging out with friends. He's just shy... and not many people want to be friends with the fat kid.

"A boy should be spending his summer outside with friends," the librarian says, not unkindly. "Don't you have any friends?" she asks.

"Can I have the book now?" Ben asks, not wanting to talk about it.

She taps the book with her hand and walks away. For whatever reason, one Ben himself probably doesn't even understand, he opens the book to the middle instead of the first page. He quickly realizes the history of Derry is a lot darker than he originally thought. For one thing, the Easter Egg Hunt celeberation at the Derry Iron Works in 1908 is particularly _grim_. What's weirder than that though is the circled face of a grinning clown in the middle of the picture. He then sees a picture of all of the children. All of them are holding eggs, though one boy in particular is holding a button-eyed doll that looks just like himself.

Ben turns the page again and sees that the Iron Works exploded, killing 88 children. 102 people in total. A cold feeling washes over him. He flips the page again and sees a photograph of some of the bodies recovered from the Iron Works. He flips it again, and again, and sees the same picture of a group of people and a particularly ominous looking tree... and sees that the pictures keep zooming in on the tree. The branches look like small hands reaching out for something. He keeps flipping the pages until the photographs are completely zoomed in on the tree... and the decapitated head of the little boy who had been holding the doll...

He closes the book, panting and not realizing that the librarian is only a table away, staring at him with a creepy grin on her face. It doesn't even look like she's moving or even breathing. Ben stares down at the cover of the book. His eyes drift over to the newspaper.

**Body found by canal not Betty Ripsom**

He turns when he hears a girl giggling. Then he can hear music and sees a bright red balloon floating across the room. Nobody seems to take notice of it except himself, however. It floats on its own, not a hand in sight holding on the string and pulling it, but it still heads towards the door. The music stops as Ben stands up, a strange feeling in the pit of his belly. He doesn't even notice that the same librarian is in two different places. He follows where the balloon went, but it's gone. Instead, at the top of the small set of stairs, is a doll just like the one the boy had been holding in the picture. Except it doesn't look like the boy. It looks like Ben.

It's even chubby, too, he sees. It's face and belly are round, it's arms particularly chunky, and it's wearing the exact same clothes he is right now. A white t-shirt with blue-jeans. It even has the same haircut. He picks it up. He's heard the rumors about the circus coming to Derry. It's supposed to be something huge too, since that old creepy house on Neibolt is getting fixed up for it. Ben doesn't know who's running the show, but figures that the dolls have to be the tickets. He finds it kind of weird, but he manages a smile. Maybe that means he'll make some friends at the circus...

He completely misses the disgusted groan that comes from the librarian by the books, not the one at the computer. And he's too far away to see her crush an egg in her hand as she mutters, "Egg Boy," under her breath, her eyes flashing yellow behind her large glasses.

Ben grabs his things, the doll in his hand, and makes his way out of the library. Does this mean he gets to go to the circus then? He guesses that'll be fun... though he can already picture how dorky he'd look going to the circus by himself... then again, maybe Beverly would want to go with him... she probably got her ticket too, now that he thought about it. That was totally something girls found cool, right? Ben frowns. That wasn't a date, was it? Asking someone you just met, technically speaking, didn't mean it was a date... did it? He had no idea... He grumbles under his breath, silently asking his mini-Ben for assistance, though he knows that's stupid, when he walks past the statue...

"Where are you off to, tits?" he hears Henry Bowers ask from right behind him.

Ben turns around, seeing Henry leaning against the statue... and then realizes that he must've followed Ben all the way to the library... and waited until he came out... His grip on his doll tightening, he tries to run for it but runs straight into Vic Criss.

"Gotcha."

They drag him to the bridge where Ben can see already a bunch of names and hearts carved into it. He tries to pull away but they're all shoving him. Nobody even notices the smile on Ben's doll turning into a frown.

"Fucking hold him," Bowers says.

"Leave me alone!" Ben pleads. He hasn't done anything to Henry or his goons... has he? He's just the new kid... he hasn't even been in Derry long enough to do anything to make any of them angry.

"Smack him," Patrick says.

"Don't let tubby get away," Bowers says.

"Help!"

"Get him!" Bowers laughs as they shove him towards the bridge. "Hold him, Hockstetter."

"Get him, Belch," Vic says as Belch throws Ben's shirt over his face.

Ben feels awkward and scared as his stomach and chest are revealed and super uncomfortable as Vic smacks him on his belly and his chest.

"Stop!" Ben shouts. "Just leave me alone."

"Look at all this blubber!"

Belch throws Ben's shirt back down as he and Vic hold him against the fence.

"Let me light his hair, like Michael Jackson," Patrick says, a strange, almost demented look in his eyes as he holds up a lighter and a can of hairspray.

Ben, Belch, and Vic all jump and back away when a jet of fire shoots out.

"Just hold him," Bowers orders.

"Get off me! Get off me!" Ben shouts.

They all freeze when they hear a car approaching. The people aren't even paying any attention, looking the other way. Whether it's intentional or not, Ben isn't sure... but... why aren't they helping him? Why can't they just look at them and make Henry stop?

"Help!" Ben calls but the woman pointedly turns up the radio. Something is missing from this scene, not that Ben realizes it. Nor do Henry and his goons. The doll's frown deepens for a reason. "Help!"

Ben grunts when he feels a white-hot pain flashing across his face once Bowers punches him. His ears ring as Bowers hits him a second time and he can just barely hear muffled yelling. Bowers shakes his head, making Ben's cheeks jiggle slightly as his nose starts to bleed.

"Okay, new kid," Bowers says, his blue eyes aglow with a crazed gleam, something that's beyond dark and more than just scary. For Ben, it's terrifying. "This is what us locals call the Kissing Bridge. It's famous for two things. Sucking face," Higgins makes kissy faces at him. "and carving names."

"Henry, please," Ben begs.

He screams as the bullies laugh, though Belch looks shocked and even horrified as Bowers carves deeply into Ben's stomach. Blood slides down Ben's belly from the H shaped cut.

"Whoa, whoa! Henry!" Belch says, his eyes afraid. Of Bowers or getting in trouble, Ben isn't sure...

"Shut up!" Bowers screams. "I'm gonna carve my whole name onto this cottage cheese!"

Hockstetter laughs suddenly.

"What's this?" he snatches the doll out of Ben's hand.

"Give that back!" Ben begs.

"Little fat boy playing with dollies?" Hockstetter chuckles, waving the doll around like a lasso. They all miss how the deep frown turns into a vicious scowl.

"How many fucking fairies do we have in this fucking town!?" Bowers screams, hitting Ben a third time.

"You gonna join the circus, fatso?" Hockstetter giggles. "They probably already have a Fat Lady."

"Shut up!" Ben snaps, tears welling in his eyes. He's _chubby_. Not _fat_.

Bowers' eyes widen, a nasty gleam settling in them and the doll's face darkens. One would think the doll knows exactly what was going through Bowers' mind. Ben looks at the little doll as Bowers pulls his knife back out.

"I'm gonna show you what happens to little fat boys who play with dollies," Bowers says darkly as Hockstetter holds the doll up.

Ben's eyes meet the black ones on the doll. They're shiny, he sees...

 _Kick him_ , it seems to say. _Kick him right where it **hurts**._

Ben does exactly that, he kicks Bowers right in the crotch, sending the bully back and he ends up propelling himself out of Vic and Higgins' grips. Unfortunately or perhaps fortunately, he throws himself over the fence and rolls right down the hill. More unfortunately, though for who, at the moment that is unclear, he left his doll behind. More specifically, he left it with Hockstetter. Ben grunts as he rolls down the hill, his belly flaring with pain when he lands on it.

"I'm gonna cut your fucking tits off. I swear to God!" Bowers screams from the other side of the fence. "Get him!" he shouts as he jumps over the fence. Hockstetter, doll still in his hand, follows first. Then Belch and then Vic.

Ben is still rolling, like a ball, down the hill. He's dirt-stained, he can already tell, and scratched and scraped, so he knows he has to be bloody too.

"Get him!" he quickly gets up at the sound of Bowers' voice, the older boy sliding down the hill right after him. "You can't run!"

They all laugh as they follow Bowers.

"We need to find Fatty!"

Ben runs away as Henry loses his balance and drops his knife somewhere in the dirt.

"My knife," Henry says, his eyes widening fearfully. "My old man will kill me!" the doll's vicious scowl turns into a frown again as Henry's hands scramble through the dirt and the leaves. "You two, get him! Come on!" he tells Hockstetter and Belch. They run where Ben had gone while Vic stands there. Henry turns, "Move your fucking ass!"

Ben keeps running, hearing Hockstetter's voice.

"He's going that way! Come on!"

Ben pants as he runs, heading down the dirt trail.

"He's down there."

He passes by an entrance into the sewer, not that he realizes it, and keeps running. It feels like a voice is urging him on to go a specific way... and he listens to that voice. Hockstetter and Belch stop and Hockstetter points Belch in the wrong direction. Of course, it's on purpose. He wants Fatty for himself. Or maybe, just maybe, he'll get lucky and find Billy Boy. The vicious scowl returns to the doll's face as Ben runs through the water, soaking his shoes and his socks. His body is throbbing with pain as the cut on his belly stings, so do the cuts and scrapes on his arms and his face.

"I don't know. I guess," Eddie says.

"That's poison ivy. And that's poison ivy," Stan says, pointing at the bushes. "And that's poison ivy."

"Where? Where's the poison ivy?" Eddie asks fearfully.

"Nowhere. Not every fucking plant is poison ivy, Stanley," Richie says.

Bill glares at him.

"W-w-watch... y-y-your... la-la-" he grits his teeth, annoyed.

"He's gonna hear the words either way," Richie says.

"I don't think so," Stan says, pointing at Georgie.

The boy is eagerly looking into the entrance into the sewer, as though he expects something absolutely, positively delightful to pop out of it suddenly.

"Okay, I'm starting to get itchy now and I'm pretty sure this is not good for my--" Eddie starts to complain but Richie cuts him off.

"Do you use the same bathroom as your mother?" he asks.

"Sometimes, yeah," Eddie says truthfully.

"Then you probably have crabs," Richie says.

"Dude!" Bill says unhappily as Georgie carefully climbs into the entrance, peering in.

"That's so not funny," Eddie says, just as unhappily.

Georgie, Bill, and Richie are in the entrance now, though Richie turns around when he realizes Stan and Eddie are still standing outside of it.

"Aren't you guys coming in? We've still got to find Georgie's possibly pedo-clown buddy," Richie says.

Bill lowers his head, his grip on his flashlight tightening, and he hits Richie in the head with it.

"You motherfu--" Richie trails off when he sees Bill about to do it again, "Fudger. I was going to say fudger."

"No, you weren't," Georgie says cheerfully.

"Uh-uh. It's greywater," Eddie says, ignoring Bill and Georgie.

"What the he--" Richie clears his throat, "-- fudge is greywater?"

"It's basically pi-- pee and crap. So I'm just telling you, you guys are splashing around in millions of gallons of Derry pee. Over a clown that doesn't even exist," Eddie says.

"He does too," Georgie says. "I met him and Stan has a doll too."

All three boys look at Stan, surprised. Stan, in turn, smiles awkwardly and lifts up his doll.

"Why didn't we notice that?" Richie asks.

"Because you have no imagination," Georgie says.

"Oh, so you admit the clown is a figment of your imagination," Richie retorts.

"No," Georgie says. "He's real. The dolls prove that..."

While Richie starts bickering with Georgie about the clown's existence, Eddie starts complaining about staph infections. Richie, of course, can't help but pick up the long stick he finds.

"I'll show you a staff infection," he says, grinning as he waves the stick around his lower half. He flinches and lowers the stick when Bill glares at him.

"This is so unsanitary. You're literally... This is literally like swimming inside of a toilet bowl right now," Richie grins as he uses the stick to lift up a dirty plastic bag. Eddie screams as Richie throws it at him, dirty water nearly splashing him. Eddie starts to stammer, "Are you retarded?"

Georgie frowns. "Bill, is that a shoe?"

He points to the shoe in the water and the Georgie and Stan dolls start to lose their humored smiles. If it had more facial expressions, one would think the dolls looked _guilty_. Regretful, even. Bill picks up the shoe, trying to ignore Eddie and Richie's bickering. Bill can see Stan swallow when he sees it, the grip on his own doll tightening.

"Whose sneaker is it?" Eddie asks.

Bill holds up the flashlight while Richie holds up the shoe. They see the name written in marker.

"It's Betty Ripsom's," Richie says quietly.

"What does that mean?" Georgie asks, holding his own doll to his chest.

He doesn't even seem to understand why the boys are frowning suddenly. Bill too. He doesn't like that frown on Bill's face. Richie clears his throat.

"Isn't it obvious?" Richie says. "Betty up and joined your stupid pretend circus."

"How can she join my circus if it's only pretend?" Georgie asks.

"He's got you there," Stan says.

"Shut up," Richie groans.

"I don't like this," Eddie says quietly.

"How do you think Betty feels?" Richie asks, grinning slightly. "Running around these tunnels with only one frickin' shoe?" he frowns slightly at the unimpressed stares he gets from Stan, Bill, and Eddie. "Well, you'd think Pennywise the Dancing Asshole--" the buttons on both dolls' eyes move, almost spinning slightly.

_If a doll could roll its eyes..._

"-- would give Betty more than one shoe to run around with."

"What if she's still here?" Stan asks quietly.

"Then she would be with Pennywise," Georgie says quietly.

"Okay, this is not a play place at a McDonald's, Georgie!" Eddie shouts down the tunnel. "My mom will have an aneurysm, if she finds out that we're playing down here to find some fake clown! Or, mind you, a clown that may be real, and quite possibly a creep!" the buttons on both dolls' eyes move again, rotating ever so slightly. "I'm serious. Bill, will you just talk some sense into him! This place is stinky and disgusting and filthy! Don't even get me started on the germs!"

"You get yourself started," Richie retorts. "And not in the fun way-- quit glaring at me, Bill!"

"Oh, you did not just --"

They start to bicker again, Stan standing to the side with an annoyed expression. Bill is frowning as he looks down at Georgie, who's still staring down the tunnel with a frown on his face. He doesn't like it.

"M-m-maybe he's at Neibolt now..." Bill says quietly as Richie waves the stick threatening at Eddie, as though toying with the idea of beating him with it. "They're supposed to be making it better... for people... for the c-circus..."

"I saw him..." Georgie says, still frowning. His voice sounds _so sad_. "He gave me the doll and the balloon... we both like popcorn... he _is_ real..." Georgie's own frown deepens. "You don't believe me either... Eddie and Dorsey don't either..."

"I'm sure he is real," Bill says quietly. "I _do_ believe you..."

He does, just not for the reason he knows Georgie is hoping for. He figures the clown has to be real because where else would both Georgie and Stan have gotten the dolls? But why do they look exactly like them when they don't know anyone by the name of Pennywise the Dancing Clown? Or Robert Gray? Or Bob? It isn't normal and it doesn't seem very safe.

"But... it is weird, Georgie," Bill says quietly.

"No, it's not," Georgie says. "Maybe he's a magical clown."

"Oh, now he's _magic_ , now?" Eddie snaps. "Does he ride asteroids through outer space, too? Oh, maybe he can turn into magical ponies too! When I see a fucking _unicorn_ is when I'll believe that clown is real!"

Bill glares down the tunnel at him, completely missing the wicked grin now adorning the dolls' faces.

"We should just go, Georgie," Bill says, sighing. "We can play somewhere else..."

"But Robert is here..." Georgie says quietly.

"I'm sure he is... but this isn't a very safe place to be playing," Bill says quietly, hating the sad look on his brother's face. "C'mon."

He walks towards the tunnel entrance as Georgie looks down at the doll. It's smiling up at him and he frowns as he hears voices coming from it. It sounds like Robert but... distorted... almost like there's multiple voices talking...

"It's summer," Stan says. "We'll be having lots of fun at the circus when it comes out... right?"

"Sure, come on down, boys and girls! Crawl through the sewers! The happiest place on earth and just as creepy as Disneyland! But instead of a creepy Goofy, we've got a creepy Pennywise! Ronald McDonald's creepy cousin! Hey, Georgie, does your clown buddy have anything else to say?" Richie asks, grinning slightly.

"Yeah," Georgie says as Bill turns around, realizing his brother wasn't following him and that he has the doll's face pressed against his ear. Almost as though he's listening to it say something. "He says the new kid needs Eddie's 'expert' help. And that we should probably get out of here."

"My what?" Eddie asks.

"Oh, yeah? He knows the new kid?" Richie asks. "You don't even know the new kid."

All four boys gasp and jump when they hear splashing. They turn to see a chubby looking boy covered in dirt in the water. He tries to stand and falls right back down. Richie climbs out of the entrance as Bill pulls Georgie out.

"Holy shit! What happened to you?" Richie asks. Bill doesn't even have the heart to tell him to watch his mouth around Georgie.

"Well," Georgie says, smiling at Richie and Eddie smugly. "I'd hate to say I told you so."

He walks past Bill and through the water, the only one with the foresight to have worn galoshes, and grabs hold of Ben's hand and helps him to his feet.

Patrick Hockstetter was only late by a few minutes, all six boys already gone and headed to the pharmacy. Hockstetter hears a clattering and sees the sewer entrance. He grins as he rattles his spray can. He still has Fatty's doll in his hand with the lighter. He climbs into the tunnel, not at all aware of how the Ben doll is grinning wickedly. Not an ounce of guilt on its face. Hockstetter slowly treads over the garbage and through the water, hearing distant clattering. He clicks his lighter.

"I hear ya, tits," Hockstetter says.

He holds the lighter up and sprays the can, a jet of fire shooting out. The only thing he's mindful of is the doll. He doesn't want to destroy it yet. He licks his lip as he comes to two tunnels. He goes down the right tunnel.

"Don't think you can stay down here all damn day now," Hockstetter says, grinning nastily. He sprays the can again. He still doesn't see Fatty.

Personally, he's a little too chubby for Patrick's tastes. He's cute, but he's not as cute as the Denbrough Slut. The wicked grin disappears from the doll's face immediately, not that Patrick notices.

If Patrick was honest with himself, which he usually was, he wishes they could've cornered Denbrough instead of Fatty. He grins as he pictures it in his head, each lewd mental image (one in particular of Denbrough on his knees, his mouth _full_ ) making the doll's frown deepen until its face contorts. It's not at all a vicious scowl, but a monstrous snarl.

Patrick lets out a pained howl when something pierces through his flesh. It feels like getting bitten by a cat or a dog, but worse. _Deeper_. He drops the doll when he feels warm liquid sliding down his wrist and sees a gaping hole in his arm all the way into his hand. He looks down at the doll, which is glaring up at him (he wasn't even aware button eyes _could_ **glare** ) and its mouth is open, with very long and very _real_ looking teeth protruding out of its mouth, each one covered in blood. Patrick's blood.

He tries to kick the doll and run, but he doesn't get far. The doll, as though it's an animatronic rather than a stuffed toy, grabs onto his leg and bites down on it, tearing a chunk clean out of his calf, tearing right through his jeans and into his flesh, ripping out the muscle and spraying blood all over itself.

He falls in the foul-smelling water and the last thing he sees is the Ben doll morphing into a clown character, though he doesn't have funny hair, and he sees its head full of brown hair as it grabs onto his shirt and tries to tear it out with its teeth.

Above Patrick and the clown doll is a bright red balloon that says _I ♥ Derry_. Children can be heard singing as upbeat, old carnival music starts playing.

Patrick starts screaming as the clown doll yells and lunges for Patrick's throat. Distantly, Ben is sure he can hear someone screaming as he sits on the back of Bill's bike, Georgie walking beside them and holding onto Bill's arm. All four boys are riding slowly for this very reason. None of them notice the blood staining the mouths of both the Stan and Georgie dolls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Chapter five is on the way!  
> \- Also, sorry Ben


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Chapter five!  
> \- Why do some people remove their comments? I don't get that. The comments are my favorite with the kudos. Anyway, thanks to those who leave comments and kudos and bother with my stories!  
> \- Anyway, warning for Beverly's creepy dad  
> \- Changes include Georgie's continued presence  
> \- Hope it's good! Let me know in the comments below!  
> \- So I went back and edited it before posting, and I made a reference to Nightmare on Elm Street again! No, the movies are literally mentioned, 2 especially. I can't imagine why... Nice reference they had for Richie though in the second movie, I thought  
> \- Another movie reference ;)

"I think it's great that we're helping the new kid, but also we need to think of our own safety," Eddie says quickly as the boys continue biking through the woods and head to town, Georgie still walking next to Bill, still holding his wrist. "I mean, he's bleeding all over and you guys know that there's an AIDS epidemic happening right now as we speak, right? My mom's friend in New York City got it by touching a dirty pole on the subway. And a drop of AIDS blood got into his system through a hangnail. A hangnail!" Eddie continues ranting as they bike through town. "And you can amputate legs and arms. But how do you amputate a waist?!" he demands as they pull into the alley next to the pharmacy. "You guys do know that alleys are known for dirty needles that have AIDS, right? You guys do know that? Remember this, Georgie, it's very important."

Bill stands Silver up and helps Ben sit down on a box in the alley, Georgie right behind him.

"Georgie, stay here with Richie," Bill tells him, taking charge. "Come on," he tells Stan and Eddie, who quickly follow him up the alley and towards the pharmacy, Eddie's bike clattering to the ground.

Richie and Georgie both look down at Ben, who doesn't really look to be in pain. Rather, he looks quite sad.

"Glad I got to meet you before you died," Richie says.

Ben looks up at him, not entirely sure how he's supposed to feel about that. Georgie stares up at Richie.

"He's not going to die," he says firmly before kicking Richie in the shin, making Ben smile slightly.

When he notices the button-eyed doll that seems to be staring directly at him, still held in both of Georgie's arms, his frown comes back. Georgie notices and smiles himself.

"Bill will fix you up," Georgie says while Richie massages his leg. "Well, Eddie will."

"It's not that," Ben says quietly, still frowning. "I lost mine," he says, pointing at the doll.

"Seriously?" Richie scoffs, "Even the new kid got one of those creepy fuckers?"

Richie looks faintly disturbed but mostly he's annoyed. It's totally _not_ because he hasn't gotten one. The doll, not that any of them notice, smirks slightly.

"Where'd you lose it?" Georgie asks. "We could go back and find it if it's in the Barrens."

"No," Ben says glumly. "Henry probably already wrecked it. It's gone."

"Maybe Pennywise will give you a new one," Georgie says hopefully.

"Who?" Ben asks curiously.

"Georgie's creepy clown buddy," Richie says, quickly backing away from Georgie before he can kick him again.

In the pharmacy, Eddie is grabbing as much antibiotics, gauze, ointment, and items he can carry, more than necessary, while Stan is counting their money.

"Can we afford all that?" Bill asks, looking at the supplies.

"It's all we got," Stan says, showing them only a few crumpled dollars.

"You kidding me?" Eddie frowns, trying to think.

"Wait, you have an account here, don't you?" Bill asks.

Eddie's eyes widen.

"If my mom finds out I bought all this stuff for myself... I'm spending the whole rest of the weekend in the emergency room getting X-rayed," Eddie says.

He feels bad for the new kid, he really does, but there is absolutely no way he is putting this on his mom's tab.

Two aisles away, Beverly is staring at the feminine products. She already feels uncomfortable and has no intention of asking her dad about any of it... She grabs a box of tampax and is about to walk down the aisle next to the tampon section, but then she sees Gretta. The last person she wants to see while buying something like this...

"See you later, Dad."

Not wanting to be spotted and most likely embarrassed, though she's not sure how Gretta acts around her dad, Beverly quickly walks to the next aisle and stops in her tracks. She isn't sure if it's better than Gretta or worse. There are three boys standing int eh aisle. She quickly hides the tampons behind her back while the dark-haired boy with a bunch of supplies in his hands drops something. It's already awkward.

"You okay?" Bill asks, slightly nervous.

"I'm fine," Beverly says quickly, lying through her teeth, as Gretta walks right past her. "What's wrong with you?" she asks, staring at the supplies as the pharmacy door dings.

"None of your business," the curly-haired boy says quickly.

"There's a kid outside. Looked like someone killed him," the dark-haired boy says just as quickly, his dark eyes wide.

The curly-haired boy gives him a faintly annoyed look.

"W-w-we need s-s-some s-supplies, but we don't have enough money," the red-haired boy says.

Beverly frowns slightly. If she had more money, she'd probably buy the supplies for them but she doesn't. However, she's not about to let an injured kid go without, though she doesn't understand why they don't just take him to the hospital or just tell Mr. Keene... but then supposes that would just cause more problems... she gets an idea...

"I like your glasses, Mr. Keene," she tells Mr. Keene at the front counter, her hands on the box of tampons she's put right in front of her. "You look just like Clark Kent."

Mr. Keene smiles and even laughs a little, looking quite flattered. "Oh," he says, adjusting his glasses slightly. "I don't know about that."

"Can I try them?" Beverly asks, smiling a small, fake smile.

Mr. Keene gives a quick glance around the store, "Mmm. Sure."

Beverly chuckles softly as he hands her the glasses. She puts them on and immediately they feel weird on her face and her vision turns slightly blurry, making her eyes feel heavy and her head throbs a little. She's definitely does not need to wear glasses, she quickly realizes.

"What do you think?" she asks.

"Well, how about that?" Mr. Keene says, still smiling slightly. "You look just like Lois Lane."

Beverly grins slightly, not even realizing what may, or may not, be going inside of Mr. Keene's head at hte moment, and instead hopes that Gretta _never_ finds out about this. She chuckles.

"Really?" she asks.

"Mmm," Mr. Keene nods slightly, still smiling.

Beverly pulls the glasses off her face, her stomach doing nervous knots as she folds the glasses.

Now or never, she thinks.

She's about to hand them back to him, but purposefully hits the items on the counter, knocking them over the side and onto the floor. They clatter as they fall and clatter again once they hit the floor. She just hopes it looked like an accident to him.

"Shoot, I'm so sorry," she says, genuinely apologetic.

"It's okay," Mr. Keene says, still smiling as he takes back his glasses, putting them on before bending down.

Beverly turns around to see the three boys still standing in the aisle before they get the idea. All three take off running, the dark-haired one with the supplies accidentally bumping into a shelf and she can hear him grunt as he knocks more items down. She smiles before she notices a pack of cigarettes on the counter. She snatches them, as Mr. Keene is still bent over, and pockets them as the doorbell jingles.

Outside, in the alley...

"Just suck the wound," Richie says.

"I need to focus right now," Eddie snaps, unimpressed and he is definitely _not_ going to suck the wound.

"You need to focus?" Richie asks.

"Yeah, can you go get me something?" Eddie asks Stan as Bill quickly hides Georgie's eyes, more blood gushing from the wound.

"Jesus!" Stan yelps at the sight of blood. "What do you need?" he asks, seeing it seeping through the gauze.

"Go get my bifocals," Eddie orders, "I hid 'em in my second fanny pack."

"Why do you have two fanny packs?" Stan asks as Bill sighs and pulls Georgie away from the scene.

They walk back down the alley and towards the pharmacy, Bill wondering if Beverly was still there. He just doesn't want Georgie to have to see Ben's injury or listen to Richie and Eddie arguing, especially since Richie can't control his language.

"He'll be okay, right?" Georgie asks Bill.

"Y-yeah," Bill says, smiling slightly. "Eddie's the best at... that."

Georgie stares up at him.

"Being paranoid?"

Bill laughs slightly.

"I heard that, Georgie!" Eddie snaps from down the alley.

"Well, he's not wrong," Richie says.

"Shut up!"

Bill steps out onto the sidewalk, Georgie right beside him, and then he sees her. Beverly Marsh, walking towards them with a bag in her hands. She looks pretty, Bill realizes. Her long ginger hair seems to be shining as she smiles, a hand on her hip, and he sees that she's wearing pink lipstick. It suits her, he thinks. His breath escapes him, his stomach suddenly feeling jittery and he doesn't understand why he feels nervous as his belly flutters. It feels like little butterflies are on his skin. Beverly still approaches them, still smiling, and the wind even blows her bangs a little. Her hair had looked darker in the pharmacy, but it's a bright, almost fiery ginger under the sunlight...

Bill swallows, quickly reaching into his pocket for the crumpled dollars.

"U-u-um, thanks," he says, holding them out for her.

Beverly doesn't take the money, instead she holds up a pack of cigarettes.

"Even-steven," she says and she winks at him.

It makes Bill's knees quiver.

Beverly then looks down when she realizes Georgie is there. He's staring up at her and she stares right back.

"You're pretty."

Beverly blinks, looking surprised. Then she looks quite flattered, her cheeks turning faintly pink, as she smiles. She has dimples, Bill notices.

"Bill thinks so, too," Georgie adds.

Beverly's smile turns into an amused grin. Bill cannot say the same.

"Oh, God, he's bleeding. Oh, my God!" Stan's voice ruins the moment.

Beverly turns to look down the alley and she immediately frowns when she recognizes a face.

"Ben from soc?" she asks, walking down the alley.

Bill turns to Georgie, who's looking up at him. The look on his face is almost like he's expecting Bill to thank him, or he's hoping for Bill to thank him. He honestly looks like he's done something that's helpful to Bill.

"W-w-w-why w-w-w-would you t-t-tell her th-th-that?" he asks, feeling like a complete and utter _dork_.

Georgie shrugs, still smiling his happy, dopey smile.

"Well, she _is_ pretty," Georgie says, "You think so, too."

"Y-yeah b-but you don't j-just... tell people that," Bill says quietly.

"Why not?" Georgie asks, looking genuinely confused.

"You just... you just don't," Bill says lamely.

"That's dumb," Georgie says as they walk back down the alley.

"You have to suck the wound before you apply the Band-Aids," Richie says.

"This is 101. You don't know what you're talking about," Eddie says, getting more and more annoyed.

He's annoyed at Richie and he's annoyed at Georgie and he's trying his hardest not to get any blood on his fingers.

"Are you okay? That looks like it hurts," Beverly says, making all four boys jump and turn to look at her.

Ben quickly throws his shirt over the cut.

"Oh. No, I'm good. I just fell," Ben says, figuring it to be at least half of the truth.

"Yeah, right into Henry Bowers," Richie says bluntly.

Ben sighs.

"S-shut it, Richie," Bill says quickly.

"Why? It's the truth," Richie says.

Ben lowers his head as Beverly steps closer.

"You sure they got the right stuff to fix you up?" she asks, smiling at him.

Ben returns the smile, the feeling of fluttery butterflies in his belly returning in full as his heart beats weirdly.

"You know, we'll take care of him," Bill says.

"Eddie will," Georgie adds.

"Yeah," Bill says quietly. "Uh, thanks again, Beverly."

"Sure. Maybe I'll see you around," Beverly says, grinning.

Bill starts to stutter. He wants to offer hanging out at the quarry with them tomorrow, but his stutter stops him.

"Bill wants you to hang out with him," Georgie says, catching onto Bill's stuttering.

Bill's ears turn red, burning with embarrassment, as Beverly's grin grows. Ben frowns slightly, Richie, Eddie, and Stan all staring, wide-eyed, at the scene.

"At the q-quarry... tomorrow... if you wanna... come," Bill says awkwardly.

"Good to know. Thanks," Beverly says, still smiling. She looks down at Georgie, her smile growing. "I better see you there, cutie."

She then pinches his cheek and he grins up at Bill. Beverly, however, notices the doll in his hands.

"I didn't think the boys were getting those things too," she says, faintly surprised and then slightly disappointed.

"Yeah, are you going?" Georgie asks eagerly.

"Haven't gotten a doll," Beverly says truthfully.

"Ben lost his and Stan got his just today. I'll bet it'll show up," Georgie says excitedly.

Beverly grins at his excitement.

"Hope so."

She then walks away, waving goodbye. Georgie happily waves goodbye as Eddie quickly stands, wiping the alley dirt and grime off his hands.

"Nice going bringing up Bowers in front of her," Stan says, annoyed.

"Yeah, dude, you heard what she did," Eddie whispers.

Ben frowns.

"What'd shedo?" he asks.

"More like 'Who'd she do?'" Richie says, ignoring Bill's unimpressed glare. "From what I hear, the list is longer than my wang," he says, pointedly grabbing his crotch.

"S-s-shut up, Richie!" Bill snaps.

"Not like that's saying much," Stan says.

Richie rolls his eyes.

"T-they're j-j-just rumors anyway," Bill says.

"Anyway, Bill had her back in third grade," Richie tells Ben, who quickly looks at Bill with shock. "They kissed in the school play. The reviews said you can't fake that sort of passion."

"Th-that doesn't c-c-c-count," Bill says, his frown deepening as he massages the spot on his arm. It still throbs. "It was just a dumb p-play."

Richie then looks at Georgie.

"Anyone will tell you that, little man. Better stay away."

"They're just dumb rumors," Georgie says. "Pennywise said so. They're not true at all."

"Says him," Richie says. He then grins. "Now, pip-pip and tally-ho, my good fellows, I do believe this chap requires our utmost attention," he says with a British accent. "Get in there, Dr. K. Come on, fix him up."

Eddie bends down, still annoyed.

"Why don't you shut the fuck up, Einstein, because I know what I'm doing and I don't want you doing the British guy with me right now."

"Suck the wound. Get in there," Richie says, still talking with a British accent.

Beverly is back home now, and she wishes more than anything that she wasn't. She can hear the TV playing, hearing a lady talking about how fun the circus is going to be, and she tries to be hopeful like that kid from the alley. She holds her bag with both of her hands, already feeling uncomfortable in her own skin that feels like it's crawling against her bones. She tries to walk to the bathroom without being spotted by her dad and peers into the living room to see if he's there, passed out drunk, again, but he _isn't_. The crawling feeling worsens.

"All the boys and the girls are welcome at the circus!" the hostess says on the TV, "Just find your dolls or even your friends' dolls!"

Beverly tries to quickly walk to the bathroom but her dad walks out of the other doorway, stopping right in front of her and blocking her path. She freezes, the discomfort growing as her stomach clenches nervously.

"Hi, Daddy," she says quietly, almost whispering.

"Hey, Bevvie," Alvin says, his eye catching the bag in her hands. "Whatcha got there?"

Beverly swallows slightly, still frowning.

"Just some things."

"Like what?" he asks, taking the bag from her. The plastic rustles.

Beverly looks away from her father. Neither one of them notice that the TV has gone silent, the hostess frowning now. Her face is contorted with evident, obvious disgust.

Alvin's smile is strange as he looks in the bag and then back at Beverly. He puts a hand on her face, his skin feeling cold against hers and his wedding ring feels even colder. Alvin holds her head with both hands and pulls it slightly towards him, leaning his face close and inhaling. _Sniffing_. The hairs on the back of Beverly's neck prickle as she holds back her disturbed shiver. Alvin sighs as the woman scowls, her face contorting almost hideously. He takes her ponytail into one hand, brushing his thumb over the ginger locks so much like her mother's.

"Tell me you're still my little girl," Alvin whispers.

"Yes, Daddy," Beverly whispers.

She doesn't understand what he means when he asks that, but she always answers yes. She's petrified to find out what happens if she says no.

"Good," he says, putting his hand back on the side of her face and carelessly shoving her away.

Beverly is standing in the bathroom, sobbing as she holds onto the sink with both hands for support. With a trembling hand, she grabs the pair of scissors she sneaked into the bathroom. She's sick of the way he treats her. She's sick of how uncomfortable he makes her. She's sick of him trying to make her more like her mother. She's especially sick of the smell of her mother's perfume. Most of all, right now, she's sick of her long hair. He's never let her get a haircut because he wants it long, like her mother's had been. The faucet sputters as Beverly lifts the scissors up to her hair. She sniffles as she grabs her hair with one hand and with the scissors, she starts cutting it.

"This is what you did. This is what you..." she grunts as she starts chopping away her hair, letting it fall into the sink. "This is..." she continues sobbing as she keeps cutting the hair until its choppy and uneven, strands of it dangling on her shoulders. She doesn't watch it go down the drain. She stares at her reflection and sees that she's cut most of it so far that it stops just below her ears. A tear escapes her eye and slides down her cheek as she holds the side of her head with one hand, her fingertips brushing against her hair. It feels... _better_.

At the quarry...

"That's disgusting," Georgie says, staring at Richie, definitely disgusted.

"It's what men do, Georgie," Richie says, grinning.

"They spit their snot into the water they're about to swim in?" Georgie asks, still disgusted.

"He's got a point," Eddie says, now grimacing.

"Oh, shut up," Richie says, thankful he's standing away from both Bill and Georgie. "You're just taking his side now because he gets easily grossed out too, right? I'm surprised you weren't already complaining about the water being dirty."

Eddie's eyes widen with realization and he backs slightly away from the cliff.

"Guys, come on," Stan says, sighing.

All six of the boys are standing at the cliff, Eddie a little farther back, just above the quarry. Not a single one of them have noticed the sign that says _No Jumping_ , or they're just ignoring it. They're all in their underwear, and Ben has a medical patch taped on his belly. On Bill's bicep is four bruises that have only just started to fade back into a dirty yellow.

"So, who's going first?" Bill asks.

Georgie smiles brightly and immediately steps forward, but Bill grabs his arm.

"No, you go with me," he says firmly.

Nobody else steps forward and Richie holds back the comment about how they were almost showed up by a seven-year-old.

"I'll go!"

All of them turn to see Beverly standing right behind them, her hair shorter than it was yesterday. Her bike falls to the ground once she lets it go, her hands flying to the button on her green dress. Five of them watch with shock, the sixth with delight, as she pulls the dress off, revealing a white bra and blue underwear. The only other thing she's wearing is a necklace with her house key on it. The five older boys continue staring with shock, this being the first time any of them have seen an actual girl only in her underwear, while Georgie smiles happily, not even aware of that simple fact. Of course, he is the only one staring at her face.

"Sissies," Beverly says, running up to them.

She grins and takes hold of Georgie's hand, both of them running together and then jumping over at the same time.

"What the fuck!" Richie shouts as the five of them watch the two falling.

Beverly and Georgie don't let go even once they hit the water. The splash they make is huge and Bill is still too shocked to even be upset with Georgie.

"Oh, holy shit! We just got showed up by a girl and a fucking seven-year-old!" Richie says unhappily.

"Do we have to do that now?" Stan asks as Beverly and Georgie resurface, still holding hands.

"Yes," Richie says, still unhappy.

"Come on!" Beverly calls.

Ben smiles and waves down at them. Bill jumps next, whooping as he plummets towards the water. It's actually fun, splashing each other with the water. They even make a game of splashing Eddie as much as they can, Richie especially taking part in it. Soon, Richie is on Ben's shoulders and Beverly on Bill's, both of them trying to shove the other down, Richie mindful not to touch her chest. They're all laughing as Richie wins.

"They're down! Yes!"

Bill swims closely to Georgie. The two of them watch with Beverly as Eddie fights with Stan and Richie in the water, Ben also watching but from a distance. Bill looks nervously over at Beverly, though he quickly averts his gaze when she looks at him. He tries to ignore those butterflies fluttering under and on his skin as she smiles at him. Ben looks back at them, but instead of feeling those funny little butterflies, he thinks he's feeling angry little wasps or hornets stinging at him. Mostly, when he looks at Bill.

"Ah, fuck! What was that?" Richie shouts suddenly, having felt something touch his foot.

"Something just touched my foot right there," Stan says worriedly.

Both boys dunk their heads under the water, trying to see what it was but their vision gets blurred. When Bill dunks his head under the water, looking, he sees it. First, he thinks it might be a turtle, but the reflection it casts on the water's surface looks more like a large spider... and turtles only have four legs... not eight...

He stares at it and it stares at him... he's certain it's white... with large... yellow eyes... It quickly swims away, almost scurrying under the water. Strangely, the water doesn't even move when it does. Not even a ripple...

"It's a turtle," Bill says, resurfacing.

It's gone anyway, and he doesn't want the good moment to be ruined by Eddie panicking about how poisonous certain breeds of spiders could be.

Later, they're all listening to upbeat rap music playing on the cassette player. Stan, Richie, Bill, Ben, and Eddie are all busy watching Beverly sunbathe while Georgie plays contentedly with his and Stan's dolls. Beverly turns her head towards them, feeling their eyes on her, and all five boys gasp and immediately pretend to be doing something else as they awkwardly clear their throats. Beverly flips over, smiling slightly, though none of them notice. Richie is too busy snooping through Ben's backpack, Ben watching, while Stan and Eddie are looking the other way, and Bill is focused on Georgie, still wondering how he can be so enamored with dolls.

"News flash, Ben. School's out for summa!" Richie says, seeing the newspaper clippings and articles and all of the books in Ben's bag as he holds his hand up to his mouth, pretending to be holding a microphone.

"Oh, that? That's not school stuff," Ben says.

Richie's eyes light up when he sees the postcard, grabbing it.

"Who sent you this?" he asks, flipping it over.

He just barely sees the words and the name written on it before Ben snatches it back, ignoring the amused grin on the other boy's face.

"No one," Ben says quickly. "No one."

Richie then grabs the blue folder.

"What's with the history project?" he asks, seeing the old papers.

They're particularly grim, he sees.

"Oh. When I first moved here, I didn't have anyone to hang out with, so I just started spending time in the library," Ben says as Richie hands Bill the folder.

"You went to the library?" Richie asks, looking and sounding genuinely surprised and confused. "On purpose?"

"Oh, I wanna see," Beverly says, standing up and sitting next to Bill.

"What's The Black Spot?" Stan asks, now sharing the folder with Eddie.

"The Black Spot was a nightclub that was burned down years ago by that racist cult," Eddie explains.

"The what?" Stan asks.

"Don't you watch _Geraldo_?" Eddie asks with an annoyed tone.

Bill is smiling slightly as he watches Georgie while Ben looks over at Beverly. It's almost endearing how much he loves those dolls, despite the oddity of how he got his, of how they look like the kids in Derry, but the happiness on Georgie's face makes him stop thinking about that. But, he does really wish Richie and Eddie would stop swearing in front of him, and he's not so sure they should be talking about things like that in front of him. Then again, Georgie doesn't seem to be paying them any attention.

Ben swallows as he tries to think. He liked Beverly's hair before, but the shorter hair actually suits her. She looks really pretty... well, actually, she looks really --

"Your hair..." he blurts out suddenly, his cheeks turning pink as she looks at him, "... your... hair hair is beautiful, Beverly," he says, sounding both quick and awkward.

Beverly blinks.

"Oh," she says, touching her chair. She smiles a small smile. "Right. Thanks."

Richie then closes the folder, shoving it back into Ben's backpack and then taking notice that Georgie is still playing with both dolls.

"Dude, you're seven. How can you play with those dumb things? If Bowers sees it, he'll kick your ass."

"Richie," Bill says, glaring at him, his teeth gritted.

Ben also frowns.

"'Cause they're cool. Henry doesn't know what he's missing," Georgie says.

"Yeah, real cool that a guy we don't even know has dolls that look like a lot of people in this town," Richie says.

Bill finds that the sarcasm is not endearing, though maybe that's just because it's directed at Georgie.

"Richie, leave him alone," he says quietly.

"Why? Even the new kid had a doll and look what happened to him. He got carved like a turkey on Thanksgiving," Richie says.

"Well, that was unrelated," Ben says.

"See?" Georgie says, pointing at Ben, still smiling.

"Yeah, and God only knows what they did to it," Richie retorts.

"He'll get another one," Georgie says.

"Oh? Did your little dolly tell you that too?" Richie asks and Bill's glare deepens, though Richie is either ignoring him or oblivious to it.

"I'm not telling, ya big meanie," Georgie says and Beverly chuckles slightly.

"Did any of you get one? Other than... Stan?" Ben asks.

"No," Beverly says. "But Gretta and all of her friends did."

"So did Betty Ripsom," Richie says. "And look at what happened to her. Nobody knows."

The dolls frown again.

"That d-d-doesn't m-m-muh-muh-mean anything," Bill says. "Maybe the clown's been... planning it... and wanted it to be.. sp-special..."

Georgie grins, though Richie snorts with disbelief.

"Yeah, real special. Real creepy too," he says.

"You wanna get kicked again?" Georgie asks.

"No, I'm good," Richie says quickly and Beverly grins.

"Where'd you get yours?" she asks Georgie.

"From Pennywise," Georgie says. "Back in October. I met him in the storm drain. He saved my boat."

"Yeah, totally not creepy," Richie mutters, quickly moving away from Georgie's kicking range.

"My dad gave me mine," Stan says quietly, though he's frowning. "You think... you think that's the ticket then? For the circus?"

"Yeah, like Willy Wonka," Georgie says. "There might even be Oompa Loompas and chocolate, too."

"Delightful," Richie says, still sarcastic.

"Y-y-you shouldn't have... s-s-spoken to him, G-G-G-Georgie," Bill says, growing quiet."You're not sup-supposed to t-talk to st-strangers."

"He's not a stranger," Georgie says adamantly. "He's my friend. You'll get your dolls, too, I'll bet. And he knows better than Richie and Eddie do anyway."

"Oh, yeah, how's that?" Richie asks, Eddie also looking insulted.

"Those rumors about Beverly," Georgie says. "He told me they're not true, and you believed them," he says bluntly.

Beverly blinks with surprise as the atmosphere turns awkward, though Georgie is the only one who doesn't seem to care.

"Dude!" Richie throws his arms up, looking betrayed. "Bro-code, Georgie! You don't talk about shit like that in front of girls!"

"Why not?" Georgie asks, confused. "She's right there and they're about her, so she should know that you know about them. But you _don't_ believe them, because they're not true."

Beverly stares at them and all of them, except Ben and Bill and Georgie, pointedly looking away.

"No, I don't," Ben says and Beverly's lips twitch.

She wants to smile.

"Neither do I," Bill says quietly.

"I'll even bet Henry Bowers just made that up to look cool," Georgie says, directing his smile at Beverly.

"You don't even know what the rumors are!" Richie says.

"No," Georgie says, still smiling. "But a rumor is just a rumor. Not true. Beverly is pretty and cool. I think Henry Bowers just needs nicer friends. Maybe more hugs too."

Richie snorts.

"Yeah, go hug Henry Bowers, Georgie. Don't expect Eddie to fix you up when you get cut open just like Ben."

"Richie," Bill warns.

"Say what you will," Georgie says, standing up. "But Pennywise and Beverly are cool and rumors are just dumb."

Beverly can't hold back her smile anymore. It is awkward, completely and utterly awkward, to have the rumors brought up in front of a group of five boys, but hearing Georgie call her pretty and cool and call out the rumors for being fake was actually kind of nice. She thinks it's actually kind of sad that a seven-year-old is more considerate and thoughtful than all of the girls and even the boys at school. And probably some of the adults too. But despite the rumors, even if he doesn't fully understand them yet, he actually likes her as a friend. That's a lot in Beverly's eyes.

"So, when does your bullshit circus even open?" Richie asks, folding his arms over his chest.

"I don't know," Georgie says. "Pennywise said the storm blew it away. Blew his funny hair right off his head."

"Yeah, because grown men can totally fit in a storm drain," Eddie mutters.

"All he would've had to do was go in through the Barrens," Georgie points out. "Or he's really flexible."

Eddie clears his throat as Ben's frown turns glum.

"I wish I hadn't lost mine," he says.

"We could go back to the Barrens, and look for it," Georgie suggested.

"Yeah, and get caught by Bowers again?" Richie says.

"I'm sure it's gone but, thanks," Ben says, managing a smile.

"We could go through town and look. Maybe they just threw it away," Beverly throws in. "Couldn't hurt, could it?"

"Probably not," Bill says, sighing.

He doesn't think Ben is going to get the same doll back, but he doesn't want to be the one to take that smile from Georgie's face. Part of him wants to start kicking Richie in the shins, too, but he does definitely need to have a talk with Georgie about privacy.

Georgie is the only one to notice Ben slipping the postcard into Beverly's backpack. He's also the one that suggests the two of them go looking for their dolls together.

Eddie is later walking home alone, turning on Neibolt street. The wind blows the leaves by his feet as he plays a hand flute. He stares up at the creepy house as he passes it, but instead of seeing the raggedy, worn down building with its dirtied walls, stained and cracked windows, and broken down sections, all he sees is a bunch of white sheets that flap in the wind and even though they billow about, he can't actually see the house itself. Nor does he hear any construction going on and as a matter of fact, he doesn't even see any actual architects or construction workers on the property. The sheets are pitched up around the house and carefully folded over each other, the sides that aren't flapping in the wind, and resemble a circus tent.

Usually when he was past this house, he gets the creeps and feels nothing but disgust. Often, it feels like little bugs are scurrying over his skin (so disgusting!) or like eyes are watching him (so creepy!) and he doesn't want to think about how unsanitary the house is. How disease-ridden. Before the sheets, the house looked like the perfect scene to a horror movie. Now Eddie is interested, not that he'll admit that to Georgie and certainly not Richie, but he is curious as to what the circus will be like. He still doesn't believe in Pennywise being able to fit into the storm drain, whether he entered the sewers by the Barrens or not (so not safe!) and even so, the dolls still retain a certain level of creepiness he doesn't appreciate.

His watch suddenly beeps. Eddie sighs as he pulls out his pill but he stops in place before he can put it in his mouth. The feeling of staring eyes has come back.

He looks over at Neibolt, feeling those goosebumps prickling at his skin like little needles, a feeling he's all too familiar with, but only from hospitals and the doctor. Neibolt is still covered by the sheets, the wind still flowing between them, and it faintly sounds like a low growling is coming from the house... like a dog, most likely large... or some kind of monster... some kind of filthy, diseased... nasty creature...

"Eddie..." a low, hoarse voice that _sounds_ male seems to call out to him from the house. "What are you looking for?"

Eddie blinks with shock when he sees, between the sheets, a clown character _staring right back at him_. The clown, a man, was wearing a bright yellow, baggy jumpsuit that had three orange pompoms running down the front of it. The sleeves were striped, teal and purple, and were rather puffy. He wore a black sleeveless vest that had pink lining and on his hands were pure white gloves. He had three ruffles on his collar, the top and the bottom pure white like his gloves, and the middle ruffle was striped too, teal and purple. His head is large and bulbous, his forehead bald, puffy red hair on the rest of his head, and his entire face painted white, but his lips are painted red and there's a red ball on his nose.

"Hi," Eddie hears the man say, a gloved hand moving in a small wave, but Eddie _doesn't_ return the smile.

He's not entirely sure, but even from a distance the clown's eyes don't look _normal_. It looks like two blue, maybe silvery, dots are looking back at him instead of actual eyes. And even so, from a distance, they look like shiny _buttons_.

Eddie walks forward, entirely intent on ignoring the stranger entirely, the feeling of coldness crawling down his back like a spider under his skin returning tenfold, his pillbox rattling, and then he drops the box, the pills spilling out of the box and falling all over the dirty road.

"Oh!" Eddie groans, pressing his fist against his lips. "Fuck. My mom's gonna fucking flip..."

Eddie mumbles to himself as he grabs his pills and, of course, every single one of them fell out. He grabs his pillbox, throwing all of them in. They're all wasted, contaminated, and he knows his mom is going to be pissed. There's no way he can take them now... he'll probably have to get a whole new pillbox too... Eddie reaches for the last pill, but a hand much larger than his own, fingers longer than his own, takes it first. He can tell already that it's a man's hand, and whoever it is is wearing a white glove but it's not the first clown Eddie saw.

He slowly, hesitantly, looks up at the arm, which is covered by a white sleeve instead of a teal and purple striped, puffy one. Eddie doesn't even bother to take the pill from the hand even though the stranger is clearly offering it back to him.

Eddie sees a man he has never seen before dressed completely in a clown suit. It's completely different than the first clown he saw. It's completely white with puffy shoulders, a tight waistline, pantaloons, and laced boots. Red pompoms run down his front, a red pompom on each boot, and there are white ruffles around his neck and around his wrists. Eddie can hear the jingling of what sounds like little bells as the man bends down. Eddie looks at his face, which is quickly etching itself into his memory.

He's considerably handsome, Eddie will give him that, with a head full of soft looking, dark brown hair with a defined face. The prominent cheekbones are a definite plus. One eye is slightly higher than the other, and one of them is lazier than the other, Eddie sees. His eyes are a happy, cheerful, almost childish blue. The kind of deep, almost rich blue you get from a small pack of crayons. His face, like the first clown's, is painted white and he too has red lipstick on his lips, but there is no red ball on his nose. Instead, he has red lines, like paint, running from the corners of his lips all the way up his cheeks and even above his eyebrows. The tip of his nose is painted red too.

Eddie swallows slightly, torn between wanting to still gaze at the man's face and wanting to run like hell from this complete stranger.

"Hiya, Eddie," the man greets him, still holding the pill between to fingers and offering it to Eddie.

He doesn't take it. The man just chuckles, takes Eddie's pillbox straight from his hands, not that Eddie's resisting, and puts the pill in it himself. He then closes the box, taps it with his hand, and puts it back into Eddie's hands. The boy still doesn't move.

"Not a good idea to take those," the man says, standing up and Eddie realizes just how _tall_ he is. He also realizes how _deep_ the man's voice is. Either way, both facts make Eddie's knees feel strangely like jelly... "They're... what's the word? Placebos? Or is it gazebo?"

Eddie swallows again as the man grins down at him, all of his teeth revealed. It's almost like a dog baring its teeth and Eddie has mixed feelings on that.

"Who... who the fuck are you?" Eddie asks quickly, stepping back even though his knees, which might as well be gelatin at this point, are still bent. He also ignores the fact that he swore in front of this stranger.

The man just keeps grinning. It's hard to decipher whether or not he finds the grin to be creepy or _attractive_.

"Robert Gray's the name," the man says. "Some people call me 'Bob', but not if they want me to respond. Lots of people call me Pennywise the Dancing Clown," the man jiggles his chest slightly, giggling as he does, when he says the word 'dancing' and Eddie catches a brief glimpse of the man's eyes (totally what he's looking at!) and he's almost certain the blue flashed _silver_. The bells jingle again even as the man, Robert or Pennywise, stills.

"Wait..." Eddie's eyes widen as he forces down the nervous lump in his throat. "You're actually fucking real?!"

There's no way Georgie was right... was there? Eddie wasn't trying to be mean or call him a liar, but it just didn't make sense. How did the man really end up in that storm drain? He would've gotten lost from the Barrens to that drain, wouldn't he?! Eddie, so warped with trying to find an explanation, misses the amused look that settles on the clown's face.

The clown just laughs. Eddie tries to ignore how much the laugh sounds like a bell too. A nice one at that...

"Of course I'm real, Eds!" he says cheerfully as he helps Eddie to his feet. "As real as you and Georgie!"

"You..." Eddie says, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth. He feels uncomfortable, though he isn't entirely sure as to _why_... then he realizes he never did introduce himself to this man, Robert Gray, and yet the clown knew his name... unless Georgie told him... but Georgie said the only time he saw the clown was in October... "... you... you don't... you don't happen to have a..." he ignores how stupid the question is, "... _unicorn_... do you?"

Robert just laughs, almost cackling. Eddie ignores the strange feeling he gets from the sound.

"Maybe I do, Eds! Maybe I don't! Only one way to find out!"

He then points a long finger over at Neibolt and Eddie almost gulps. He's not going in that fucking house.

"You cleaned that placed out, right?" he demands, going into a rant. "I mean, can you just imagine how much disgusting and just... I mean, leprosy, tetanus, dirty needles, mold, all kinds of horrifying... I can't even... why would you... why Neibolt of all places would you hold a circus? Just because it's cheap doesn't mean it's any less dangerous! Haven't you seen any of the _A Nightmare on Elm Street_ movies? _A Nightmare on Elm Street 2: Freddy's Revenge_ especially points that out! I mean, he bought the house because it was so cheap and there was a freaking dream demon in it! You bought that house and God only knows what kind of horrors are in that!"

Robert bites his lip, entirely all too amused by Eddie's ranting, though his eyes do dim just faintly at the word 'horrors' as he looks back at the clown behind the sheets. His lips are moving, but only because the clown behind him, the first clown with the silky, silver suit with orange pompoms and a collar ruff, is moving his mouth in the way it wants him to speak. That clown, the Bozo, Clarabell, Ronald McDonald mix, as it were, is forcing the second clown's mouth into a painful looking grin. The second clown, to Robert's perspective, appears to be a puppet to the first clown.

Ignoring that, he grabs hold of Eddie's ear, stopping the boy's ranting entirely.

"What's that behind your ear?"

"I'm too old for the stupid quarter trick, and don't think you can distract me from health code violations," Eddie says, grumbling but Robert just grins, ignoring both clowns.

Instead of a quarter, however, Robert pulls a string from behind Eddie's ear. Attached to the string is a bright red balloon... and then he continues pulling the string and Eddie sees a bunch of balloons that are held up in a triangular form. He counts at least twenty-one balloons connected by one string.

"How the fuck...?" Eddie asks but stops himself and Robert just smiles knowingly at him, letting the balloons float just above his head as he holds the string.

"Magic, Eds," Robert says, chuckling. "And I couldn't go and let you miss your ticket, now could I? I did have another idea planned for this, but I thought you wouldn't like it."

Eddie eyes him suspiciously. What other idea?

Robert just giggles again, pointing down at Eddie's fanny pack.

"What's that in your fanny pack?"

Eddie, his eyes focused solely on the clown (totally and _only_ because he's terrified right now and he is definitely going to have a _serious_ talk with Georgie after this), unzips his fanny pack and reaches in. His eyes widen when he feels something other than his pills and medical supplies in his fanny pack and he blanches as he looks down, unintentionally taking his eyes off the clown, and he sees, in his hand, a little doll that looks just like himself. It's even wearing the same pair of red shorts that he has at home and is even wearing the same yellow t-shirt that he has in his closet. At _home_. It even has a tiny little fanny pack around its waist, and a second fanny pack under that one.

"How the hell did you..." Eddie starts to ask, looking back up but the clown is gone. His heart and his stomach _jump_ and then both feel ready to pop out of his body because he didn't even _hear_ the clown walk away. "Fuck... fuck... shit..."

Eddie quickly turns and sees Robert standing in front of Neibolt now. How did he...

" _Magic_ , Eds," Robert says, still grinning.

"Bullshit," Eddie says at once, dragging out the 'bull'.

"No, _Unicorn_ Shit," Robert says, his grin widening as he giggles once more. "Nah, I'm just messing with you. I don't have a unicorn. Those things are mean as hell. Just ask that facility worker. No, wait, he's dead."

"How did..." Eddie starts to ask but then he hesitates. Robert can't be serious, can he? He's gotta be screwing with him, big time. "How did you...?"

Eddie frowns as Robert clasps his hands together, holding the string with both hands.

"The Capitol Theater, Eds," Robert says, his grin all the more knowing as he lifts up the sheet. "Consider it Richie's... _token_.

Robert then laughs and then starts cackling as he disappears under and then behind the sheet.

"Wha..." Eddie starts to ask but then shakes his head, shuddering. "Fuck this..."

He then tries to ignore the feeling of being thoroughly disturbed in favor of staring down at the little doll that looks just like himself. This doll looks just like Stan and Georgie's, though it resembles Eddie instead, but its button eyes are dark brown instead of black. Just like Eddie's. He figures this has to be the second dumbest thing he's ever done, dropping his pills all over the dirty street in front of Neibolt (the dirtiest house in Derry) taking first place, but he takes the doll home with him. He is completely unaware of a leper staring at him from under the sheet, a frown on its distorted face that meets its dim, black button eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Chapter six is on the way and uh, some particularly dark tags are probably going to be added


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Thus far, the darkest chapter I have ever written, I do believe. Please tell me if there are any tags I missed. I have decided to add Fat Shaming, cause that'll probably come up more when the circus actually makes its debut, and I guess Non-Consensual Touching has made its debut as well, hasn't it? I'm also probably adding "Attempted" since that's in this.  
> \- It's technically not cannibalism since Pennywise is the one doing the eating, right? Well, I'm guessing two tags revolving around death are going to be added. Side note, Robert/Pennywise and Bill is the main pairing, but I'm wondering if I should add two more? I think those two other relationships will become quite obvious.  
> \- Well, this chapter got pretty fucking dark. Mind the tags, if they're up by the time this chapter is read, and those who read it, let me know what you think in the comments below! If this isn't your cuppa, buzz off.  
> \- Actually this was a pretty long fucking chapter. I'm excited because I think it's a good chapter but it gets fucked up towards the end  
> \- Speaking of which, I mentioned in an early chapter about Netflix taking off Coraline and me being pretty fucking pissed. Guess what?  
> \- Anyway, thanks to everyone who leaves comments and kudos and bothers with this story! Someone in chapter four made their comment a wee too early. Welp, here's that  
> \- Oh, also, for later chapters, probably like eight, time is mostly irrelevant. I'll be taking scenes from Part Two and incorporating it into this story, where I can. One in particular involving Richie, of course ;)  
> \- Anyhoo, let me know how this chapter was in the comments!

Beverly is at home, frowning and wishing the day could have lasted just a little bit longer. She actually enjoyed hanging out with Bill and his brother and their friends. She actually liked the fact that Georgie was honest, even if Richie had been right about the fact that Georgie didn't understand the extent and concept of the rumors. Either way, Georgie was _nice_. Beverly liked him.

Beverly sighs as she sits down on her bed, pulling her book out of her backpack. She notices a postcard fall out on the floor. It's definitely not hers. She grabs it, curious, seeing a note written on it, and quickly runs into the bathroom. She knows the point of a postcard given in secret. Beverly makes sure to slide the lock in place before sitting in the bathtub, her legs dangling over the side as she reads the card, realizing its a poem.

"'Your hair is winter fire... January embers... My heart burns there, too'." she reads it in a whisper.

She smiles, her eyes stinging as they water and her heart and stomach flutter. Nobody has ever written her a poem before... or anything sweet or even simply kind for that matter. The only thing she's ever had written to her were cruel insults and nasty comments... she quickly understands that it must have been one of the boys when they were at the quarry, because she's positive the postcard wasn't in her backpack before then...

Beverly sincerely doubts it was Richie. He doesn't seem the type to be fond of poetry and she saw the way he was looking at Eddie when he thought the dark-haired boy wasn't looking, and she doubts it was Eddie for the very same reason. It was almost amusing how both boys were looking at each other when the other one was looking away, namely Richie who must've thought himself subtle. She wonders if he even realized it. She thinks harder. She isn't certain, but she shortens the list to Stan, Bill, or Ben. She isn't so sure about Bill either since after being caught staring at her sunbathing, he had seemed more focused on his little brother than anything else. And she doubts it was Georgie either.

Her heart flutters. Ben or Stan? She misses the most crucial detail about the postcard. The fact that there is a lighthouse on the other side, the very same lighthouse Ben had based his project on for school. The very same lighthouse project he'd accidentally broken when he and Beverly first _technically_ met outside of the school. Either way, she feels flattered as she smiles and holds it to her chest, hiding the poem like a secret she doesn't want anyone else in on.

" _Beverly_..."

Beverly frowns. That had sounded like a girl's voice... but Beverly was in the bathroom, and the only girls that ever interacted with her were her bullies, and they didn't stop at the apartment, ever. The problem wasn't that, however. The problem was that it sounded like a whisper that was _in_ the room with her. She hesitantly sits up in the bathtub as water drips from the faucet in the sink.

" _Beverly_..." the girl's voice whispers again. " _Help me_..."

Beverly gets out of the bathtub. Why does the whispering voice sound like it's coming from the sink? That's impossible... Beverly stands up straight, setting the postcard on the back of the toilet, and shaking slightly, she looks at the sink.

" _Help me, please_..." the voice whispers.

" _We all want to meet you, Beverly_ ," multiple whispering voices echo from the drain as Beverly peers over the sink. " _We all float down here_."

Beverly tries to look down into the drain, as though she's expecting to see someone down there. Someone who may even be looking back at her without her realizing it.

"Hello?" Beverly says, wondering if she was being stupid and imagining things. "Who are you?" she asks, knowing how dumb she must look and sound right now.

" _I'm Veronica_ ," one girl's voice whispers back up at her.

" _Betty Ripsom_ ," another girl's voice whispers.

" _Come closer_ ," Veronica's voice whispers, urging.

" _Wanna see_?" Betty's whispering voice asks.

" _We float_ ," Veronica whispers.

Beverly was certain she could hear giggling, though it sounded distorted. Almost like the sound of white noise on a TV. She's about to pull away, fully intent on completely ignoring the voices and pretending this never happened, when she hears distorted... she blinks, her blue eyes widening as her frown deepens. Was that crying? No... not _crying_... it sounded like distorted _sobbing_...

" _Just do it_..." a low voice whispers from the drain and Beverly gasps, visibly trembling.

She has no idea why, but that voice sends a chill unlike anything she's ever felt before through her entire body. It sounds vaguely familiar, but she can't quite place it. Almost like a dream she can reach but not quite hold.

" _Don't you want it? Don't you want it_?" a second low voice grumbles from the drain.

" _This was the scariest part for **me**_..." a third low voice whispers.

"Stop it..." a fourth voice, one that sounds like a man, mumbles from the drain. "I said... stop... stop it... please... just stop..." Although his voice is still only a whisper, Beverly can hear the plea. The _begging_.

" _C'mon... you know you want to_..." the second voice whispers, laughing slightly. The sound makes the pipes rattle. It too sounds like a man and faintly, just faintly, it sounds like an English accent.

"I said... I said stop... please... just stop it..." the fourth voice murmurs, still pleading. A desperate beg.

" _You're the one that messed up. **Twice**_ ," the first voice, which sounds like a cross between a man and a woman, Beverly can't decipher it, says with a coldness that chills the girl. " _Oh, wait. You messed up **thrice**_ ," the voice says, the octave suggesting that whatever face it belongs to is sneering. " _Just do it or go **float** for yourself_."

Beverly's lips part as the voices suddenly disappear, as though they were never really there at all. She turns her head towards the bathroom door, debating. She quietly, most carefully, walks into the living room, seeing her father is asleep in his chair while the TV is playing, though there is nothing actually on it except a distorted screen. White noise. Black and gray and even white flicker across the glass, looking like bolts of lightning that distinctly resemble hands. She sighs as she grabs the measuring tape. As she walks back into the bathroom, she misses the flickering image of a clown character on his knees, holding his head, clearly in pain, while three other clowns circle him, clearly taunting him. One clown in particular is enjoying itself.

In the bathroom, Beverly sticks the tape down the drain. She keeps shoving it further and further in, her eyes slowly widening with how far down it goes, not at all stopping at a bend in the pipes. It doesn't stop until the tape almost runs out. The tape rattles and she briefly thinks she hears what sounds like a man crying out in pain rather than a girl giggling. She sighs as she starts pulling the tape back in. It slowly becomes harder to pull out of the drain... she sees blood and then hair covering the end of the yellow tape... she grimaces, disgusted, as she looks at the bloodied end of the tape and the hair attached, the latter still in the drain.

That's... that's _her_ hair, isn't it?

"Stop... stop it... stop... please..." the fourth voice, the man's voice, murmurs from the drain. The desperation in his voice is beyond pitiful if not completely heart-wrenching.

" _Float too... float too... float too_..." the three voices echo from the drain, all clearly jeering.

"I..." the man's voice whispers, hesitant. "I won't do it..."

" _Fine_..." the first voice whispers, cold as ever. " _Starve yourself then_..." it whispers cruelly. " _I'll do it myself... **traitor**_..."

Strands of Beverly's bloodied hair suddenly shoot out from the end of the measuring tape as though they're _alive_ and grab onto Beverly's wrist, tying themselves around and binding themselves until it wraps around her entire hand. She screams and whimpers as more hair flies out of the drain, like living things, like serpents striking and quickly constricting around their prey, or perhaps even like _hands_ , and wrap themselves around her other wrist and she grunts as the hair forces her hands apart. She starts screaming, terror piercing her very core like the sharpest knife, as more hair shouts out of the drain and wraps itself around her neck and head, wrapping itself around her legs and quickly her entire body.

She lets out an earsplitting, horrified scream that echoes down the drain. She barely even registers the earsplitting, agonized screaming echoing up the drain.

Beverly's heart pounds, racing faster and faster in her chest, as her stomach seemingly disappears from her body. She's still screaming, unable to stop herself.

"Daddy!" she cries out as the hair forces her head closer and closer to the drain. "Help!"

She has no idea how her father would react to this, but between her fear of her father and her fear of this very moment, she'll take the former. Words cannot describe the terror she's feeling. Words cannot describe the agony another is feeling.

The pulling doesn't stop, though the strands of hair bind themselves even more tightly around her, digging into her flesh, and the hair forces her eye to look directly into the drain. Beverly whimpers fearfully, her entire body feeling cold with terror, when she hears the screaming echoing back up from the drain and it isn't her own. She almost pities whatever poor creature that is clearly being tortured.

"Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!"

Beverly trembles, head to toe, her entire body feeling as though she's been drenched in icy water, a cold sweat forming on her skin, when she sees a dark red bubble forming in the drain, quickly rising up at her as though the sink is backed up.

"STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT!"

" ** _TRAITOR!_** "

She lets out a shrill shriek at the sound of the voices. The man's voice sounds horrible, the sound akin to someone being tortured. Beverly briefly registers that he is the poor creature facing torment. The other voice, the one with an indecipherable gender, sounds infinitely _worse_.

That one sounds as though no human could have said that single word in such a way, screeching and bellowing at the same time with an octave that suspiciously, frighteningly, _terrifyingly_ , is identical to a _monstrous_ sound that no _human_ could ever make. She's certain that the word part of it is that whoever said that word, ' _traitor_ ', honestly sounds as though it has been betrayed in the most awful way imaginable.

"STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT!"

Beverly screams as the sink starts to rattle even though she's holding onto the sides for dear life. An earsplitting, gut-wrenching, bone-chilling, awful monstrous roar echoes from the drain. She's certain she can feel the breath of something inside of the drain, but she doesn't feel the heat of the breath or even smell the stink of it. It feels cold and there isn't even a smell to help her conjure a picture in her mind of whatever monster is lurking in the depths of the sink.

_As though there is **no monster**._

Beverly's breath shakes, her eyes widening with shock and horror, as the red bubble of liquid -- **_blood_ **\-- suddenly slides back down the drain, the hair letting go of her at once and shooting back into the drain.

" _ **TRAITOR!**_ "

Beverly lets out the shrillest scream her lungs can muster when a large blast of warm liquid -- _**blood** _\-- shoots out of the drain, splattering her entire body and spraying all over the bathroom. She splutters and chokes, coughing and screaming, when she tastes the blood on her tongue as it stains her teeth. It completely splatters the postcard, drenching it and Beverly and the entire bathroom with blood, and keeps streaming out of the drain. The walls and the ceiling are quickly caked with it, the lights now appearing orange rather than yellow, as Beverly is flung backwards.

She screams as she slips in the blood, falling on her backside and quickly scrambling backwards and away from the sink. Her hair clings to her head, entirely soaked. Everything is completely covered in blood. not an inch of the room and the items in it is not drenched. Beverly has no clue that this particular blood wasn't from the dead kids in the sink. Or any dead kids for that matter. It was most likely that she would never truly know who's blood it was, as well as the real reason it didn't taste like iron and smell like copper, like _human_ blood.

She doesn't even realize that there is another creature other than herself willing, urging, begging for the blood to disappear. But it _doesn't_. The voices are silenced, but the blood still doesn't disappear.

The entire bathroom resembles a photographer's dark room now, doused in red light rather than a dim yellow one. Beverly lets out a broken sob and then, from the bottom of her lungs, the very pit of them, she lets out the sharpest, shrillest scream her entire body can muster. The bathroom door opens, nearly slamming, as her dad barges in.

"The hell's going on?" he demands.

All he had heard was Beverly screaming, the sound startling him awake. It ignited a mode rooted deep within him that he didn't even know he had. A protective sort of mode, not that he understood it. It was because the sound of Beverly's screaming, a terrified, indescribable sound that only _fear_ or even _terror_ could create, was something he never wanted to hear again. It was a sound he didn't like and even more so he didn't like the fact that he didn't understand _why_ she was screaming. She was in the bathroom, sitting on the floor, looking as though she had just seen her deepest fear right in front of her face, her wide, petrified eyes on the sink, but there was _nothing_ in the bathroom.

Beverly looks at her father, stuttering shakily. She never thought she'd be so happy to see him, but still so terrified at the same time. Only this time it wasn't fear of him.

"The sink..." she continues stuttering, her heart pounding in her chest, thumping madly. There was no steady beat to it. She felt as though her heart could give out at any moment. "And the blood... and the man... it's..."

"What blood?" Alvin asks, looking at the sink and then back at her. His eyes darken suddenly. "What _man_?"

Beverly's breath hitches.

"The sink..." she says, almost whispering. "The man... you don't see it?" she asks, her eyes impossibly wide as she stammers. "There was blood and a screaming man..." she continues stammering as her dad looks around the bathroom.

He honestly doubts this is some kind of a prank, because she honestly looks like a damn deer caught in headlights, but out of a terror that even he knows being caught doing something stupid cannot invoke. At least, something like this, some kind of dumb prank, wouldn't invoke it, so he knows she isn't lying to him, but he _is_ worried.

She mumbles shakily as he approaches cautiously, trying his hardest not to unintentionally scare her even worse. He bends his knees and looks right at her, an actually worried expression on his face.

"You worry me, Bevvie," he says softly. "You worry me a lot."

"But don't you see?" Beverly asks softly, terrified even as her heart begins to slow.

Alvin's eyes rest on her hair, his hand extending out and his fingers just barely brushing against it. Beverly can see the blood that stains his fingers, but he doesn't even give them a second glance. Which means he really _can't_ see it.

"Why'd you do this to your hair?" he asks. "Makes you look like a boy," he says, frowning.

He doesn't like how she looks less like her mother now. Her mother always had long hair... a disgusted, disturbed grumble echoes from the drain... not that either one of them hear it.

Alvin stands up and leaves her there to collect herself, shutting the door behind him. Beverly starts sobbing. She isn't the only one. The sound still echoes faintly from the drain.

" _You did this to yourself_..." that first cold voice whispers from the drain. It isn't talking to Beverly. " _You can't save the boy either... and you know I'm not talking about Georgie_..."

Rain drips from a wet spot on the ceiling of Bill's bedroom. There's a leak. The raindrop drips down onto the picture Georgie drew hours beforehand of Pennywise the Dancing Clown, or Robert Gray. It isn't very defined, rather it's a drawing only a child could make, cartoon-y and made from crayons, but Georgie had been so happy to make it for Bill. The blue of the clown's eye, however, gets smudged by the raindrop. It makes the clown look as though he's crying despite the fact that he's smiling.

Another drop falls onto the clown's mouth, making it frown instead of smile. Almost like a dirty secret has been revealed.

The clown is wearing the very same white suit, like an Italian opera clown, and boots, three red pompoms running down the clown's front and red pompoms sit on the top of his boots, and there are white ruffles around the clown's neck and on his wrists. There are little bells around his head that Georgie couldn't draw under the ruffles. The clown, however, still lacks brightly colored hair, maybe it would be red or orange, and instead he still has the very same dark brown hair.

This picture rests on Bill's pillow, Georgie having been so happy to draw it and then give it to his brother, and Bill unintentionally fell asleep with it right next to his head. The clown's frown deepens, but not because of the rain, though another raindrop does fall on its other eye, making it resemble a sad, genuinely crying clown rather than the happy one Georgie had originally drawn.

The angry phone call Bill had gotten from Eddie hours ago had only made Georgie all the more happy, since Eddie had been calling to _complain_ about the fact that he'd gotten his ticket. Now that left Bill, Richie, and Beverly as the only ones who had yet to get their tickets. Georgie was hoping Ben got another one or somehow, someway, found the first one, assuming Bowers and Hockstetter hadn't already destroyed it. Bill shivers as his eyelids flutter, consciousness creeping up his spine as he feels himself awaken from a rather strange dream.

There had been children, he knew. Dozens... maybe even hundreds... possibly even thousands... all of them had been giggling and laughing, happy and childish... it was blurry, the memory of his dream already turning hazy, but he could just distinctly remember two little faces smiling up at him. He had been in the dream himself, having seen what was happening in it with his own eyes, conjuring himself into the dream to experience it for himself... and rather, the dream had felt like deja vu... as though he'd already experienced it... and he had been holding two little babies... he remembered from his dream... but their names were even more distant than their faces... which had been painted like the clown's in the picture Georgie had drawn... blue eyes with ginger hair... on one of the faces... the other was a brunette... both were baby girls... Bill sighs. It was gone.

He sighs even more deeply as thunder rumbles, more water dripping onto Georgie's picture. It hadn't been very easy putting him to bed, since he was so excited about Eddie getting his ticket. Definitely more excited than Eddie was, but once he had his own doll and LEGO turtle and was tucked in, he was out like a light.

Bill moves the picture when another drop falls on it, frowning at the sight of the smudges. He gets up and goes to get a bucket. He's not looking forward to telling his dad there's a leak. He sets up the bucket and then frowns. He doesn't think he can go back to sleep now. He quietly, carefully, goes down the stairs. It's summer, so his dad shouldn't be mad at him for being up so late since school nights won't be happening for a while, and Bill doesn't have summer school... there's nothing wrong with watching TV, right? Bill figures his dad will be annoyed with him for something else either way, and figures he has nothing better to do.

He sniffles as he turns on the TV, the same woman from before playing on it and talking cheerfully about the circus coming to town. Eddie had mentioned that too, the white sheets covering Neibolt and hiding it from prying eyes, but there were no construction workers. Not even ones going home after a long day of working. There had only been two clowns. He hadn't been very happy either that the clown, Pennywise, had found a way to put the Eddie doll in Eddie's fanny pack without Eddie even noticing, and Eddie was still adamant that magic did not exist. Apparently, Robert did _not_ have a unicorn either and apparently unicorns were actually mean as hell and Eddie, unlike Georgie, had seen a second clown besides Robert. But the other clown Eddie had seen never actually introduced himself, just as Eddie had never introduced himself to Robert and yet the clown had known his name. Eddie was still thoroughly disturbed and Georgie positively delighted.

"Come to the circus, boys and girls!" the woman says cheerfully on the TV as Bill sits on the couch. "Bring all your siblings and all your friends! The fun's just beginning!"

Bill stares at the woman, wondering why his dad was even watching this show. Especially since he didn't seem keen on giving Bill the money to take Georgie.

"But what if you lost your ticket?" a little boy asks, sounding sad. "I lost mine."

Bill scoffs. He doesn't know that the little boy on the screen is the very same little boy Ben saw in the Derry history book in the library.

"That's all right!" the woman says cheerfully.

However, there is something underneath that cheeriness. _Guilt_. And _concern_. _Fear_. "So what if you lost it? All things come right back around, Benny!"

Bill frowns, but he continues watching the show. Billy and Benny, William and Benjamin, are common names, he knows. It just happens to be weird that when Bill's father told him not to ask for money, the woman had been talking to a boy named Billy, and had said that the circus was free and so were the tickets, and that all you had to do was find yours. And now that Bill was thinking about Ben, the woman called a little boy on the show, who apparently lost his doll too, Benny. He shakes it off. The names are common. Or maybe, just maybe, the woman knows something he doesn't.

"But what if a big bully took your ticket?" the boy, Benny, asks, still frowning sadly.

Bill is staring at the TV. He notices how afraid the woman looks now. Actually, 'afraid' is an understatement. She looks _terrified_.

"Well then --" the woman begins but stops suddenly, her eyes widening as she looks right at Bill.

The boy jumps, suddenly feeling like a cartoon character that has just literally popped their skeleton out of their skin, like Tom from _Tom and Jerry_ , when he feels a large hand on his shoulder.

"I thought I told you to take the garbage out," his dad says from behind him.

Bill's heart, which had given a jump even worse than his body had, slows but not by much. He tries not to flinch as his dad's fingers dig into his shoulder. Painfully. His arm has just only healed... _How_ could he have forgotten? He knows its because Eddie called him and Georgie got excited... but it's not Eddie's fault and it definitely isn't Georgie's fault.

"I'm sorry," Bill murmurs, his eyes welling with tears.

"Don't be sorry," his dad snaps, letting go of his shoulder. "Just do it."

He walks away, almost storming up the stairs, and Bill holds the tender spot, his lip quivering as his eyes sting. He stands up, missing the woman's petrified face.

"-- you certainly don't go outside at night!" the woman says quickly but Bill isn't paying attention. "Garbage can go tomorrow morning! Before your dad gets up!" she's shaking, head to toe, her chest heaving and her eyes widening fearfully. "A very bad idea! Going out at night!" the woman says, panic etched on her face. And _guilt_. "You --" Bill was missing her warnings entirely and even the faces of the children shared her frightened expression. " _Billy_!"

Bill sniffles, his shoulder still throbbing, as he grabs the garbage bag and heads out the door. It is stupid, he knows, not to just wait until morning, but he doesn't need _more_ bruises. The porch is damp under his feet and the grass is wet, the sidewalks darker than usual and the roads just starting to fill with water on the sides. Bill sighs as he throws the bag into the can, slightly wondering when the circus was going to actually open. He just hopes everyone else gets their tickets. He's only looking forward to it because of Georgie, and he doesn't really like the idea of letting Georgie go with just Eddie and Stan to the circus if he doesn't find his ticket. It's not that Bill doesn't trust his friends, but he still doesn't like the idea of Georgie being out of his sight.

He sighs again, turning back to go into the house, but something down the street catches his eye. It is against better judgment, he knows, but he can't help but stop in his tracks, freezing like a deer in headlights, and look down the street. Under the streetlight, there is a dark figure standing in the middle of the road. Whoever it is, their face is obscured from Bill's sight. He doesn't realize it yet, but the figure is looking right back at him. Bill breathes shakily.

In the house...

"... stop it..." the woman on the TV whimpers as she starts clutching her head.

She lets out a pained cry, the children looking terrified out of their wits, as the TV makes a whining sound, the screen flickering black and white and gray, white lines streaking across the screen. The woman's nails grow longer and she digs them into her head as her teeth sharpen, blood sliding down her face before the screen turns to complete static.

Voices faintly echo out of the screen.

"... don't..." the voice of the hostess says at the same time a man's voice does, almost as though they're the same voice. "... don't hurt him..."

" _Thrice_ ," that cold, cruel voice echoes in the TV. The way this voice speaks is as though it's going to enjoy what is coming. Immensely. As though it's an act of revenge sweeter than anything else. " _ **You** messed up **thrice**_." The way the voice says these words makes it seem like the other's mistake is going to benefit it. Immensely. " _He'll be dead within the hour_... _isn't that what **we** want_?"

"... please..." the hostess/man beg at the same time, the sound echoing through the static. "... don't hurt him..."

" _ **TRAITOR!**_ "

Outside...

Bill is still staring at the shadowy figure, hesitantly taking a step forward and his heart lurches into his throat when the figure takes a step closer _towards him_. His chest heaves as a sudden coldness washes over him, his stomach feeling jittery.

In the house...

The TV is making whines just like the ones Bill and Georgie's walkie talkies do. The man's voice is screaming out of the TV, the sound echoing among the static.

Outside...

Bill and the figure keep staring at each other, the boy's arms trembling, his knees already quivering, as the figure approaches. The first thing Bill notices is that the figure is limping slightly, looking as though they were barely putting weight on one leg. He wonders if it's someone that has been injured and wonders if he should help, or at least get his dad... but then the person comes closer and closer...

Bill shakes as he hears the TV. He can hear a pained whine, though whether it's coming from the woman or someone else he isn't sure, but it does sound more like a man. He can hear the TV static and amidst it, he can hear voices...

" _He's coming for you_..." the distorted voices of little girls sing together. The sound is laced with static. "... _**Billy**_..."

Bill jumps, not taking his eyes off the stranger, when he hears a sudden explosion.

In the house, the TV has exploded. To an outsider's perspective, it would appear that the TV shorted out and a fuse burst, causing the screen to crack and then shatter, sending glass shards flying all over the living room floor. Electricity crackles in the wiring until the TV unplugs itself. The pained whining, however, does not stop. It echoes even more loudly from the TV.

Outside...

Self-preservation makes Bill forget helping a possibly injured stranger and he darts across the front lawn, the stranger moving just as quickly, though still limping, after him. Bill is on the top step of the of the porch when the door suddenly slams shut, the deadbolt and doorknob locking themselves from the inside. Bill slams into it, not even caring about the pain that flares in his arm, rattles the doorknob, his eyes widening as his heart thuds against his ribs. He pounds his fist on the door.

"Dad!" he screams as the figure runs across the lawn, visibly limping. "DAD!"

There is no answer, but Bill knows his dad _can't_ already be asleep. Bill's eyes widen, an icy shard of pure terror piercing him into his very core.

"DAD!"

Bill sharply turns around at the sound of heavy breathing, pressing his back against the door, his hand still on the knob, perhaps thinking that if he continues rattling it, it will unlock on its own, and his eyes widen when he sees the figure's face.

"Wh-wh-wh-why are y-y-y-you hu-huh-here?" Bill asks, his eyes wide with shock and confusion and _fear_.

Patrick Hockstetter is looming over him, grinning madly, his eyes gleaming nastily as he steps onto the porch, still limping. He's covered in what looks like muck, not even mud, and he smells _awful_. As a matter of fact, Bill recognizes the smell immediately, having smelled the exact same smell on himself. Hockstetter smells as though he's been hiking through the Barrens, through the sewers, through the _grey water_... but he reeks of an iron smell too, the smell of _blood_. Bill glances at Hockstetter's wrist, which is dripping blood onto the porch. Bill feels sick when he sees a hole in Hockstetter's wrist that goes all the way down to his head, nearing his thumb. It looks like something with a large mouth and sharp teeth bit him, _deeply_.

"Wh-wh-why are y-y-you huh-huh-here?" Bill repeats, still stuttering, though he's still rattling the doorknob behind himself, wondering why his dad hasn't already opened the door.

Hockstetter stares at him. Then he's laughing. It comes out wheezy at first, as though breathing is difficult for him at the moment, Bill wouldn't be surprised if it was, and then he's outright laughing as though Bill has just said the funniest joke imaginable.

"Looking for Fatty," Hockstetter says suddenly. Bill feels a hot flash of anger course through him, knowing that Hockstetter is talking about Ben. "Was _hoping_ to run into _you_... and then the fucker bit me..." Hockstetter says, giggling. His teeth are bared, like a dog about to bite. "Little Fatty bit me," he holds up his wrist, blood still dripping. It makes Bill wish his dad would open the door already... **_why_ **wasn't he opening the door? Bill briefly wonders _how_ the door even closed... his dad had been upstairs... Georgie too... nobody else was in the house and the damn thing had _slammed_ shut... and was _locked_... "... _twice... **almost** thrice_!" Hockstetter laughs, almost cackling, as he lifts up his leg and turns it so that Bill can see his calf and the sight of it almost makes the boy _vomit_.

Hockstetter's calf is torn open, looking like the same large mouth with sharp teeth had bitten him and took a chunk clean out of him. Blood is sliding down what skin is left on his leg and Bill trembles.

"I mean... I always thought you were cute... a little _slut_..." Hockstetter says, still grinning. "... but when I heard her say you're his _favorite_..." he laughs wheezily.

"Wh-what the f-f-fuh-fuh-fuh-fuhck are you t-talking about?" Bill asks. Hockstetter's grin just widens. "Why the fuck aren't you at the hospital?"

Only Hockstetter notices the screaming, the sounds of a creature being tortured, which is echoing from the kitchen sink and the broken TV.

"C'mon, Billy Boy," Hocksetter says, approaching Bill, who quickly scrambles away from the door, wondering if the back door was, by any chance, unlocked... "You know..." Hockstetter starts giggling and then he starts laughing and then he's outright _cackling_. "You'll float too! You'll float too! You'll float too!"

He lunges but Bill darts to the side. He can't make it to the steps, Hockstetter is in his way, and suddenly he's being pushed. It feels like hands are shoving him to the side, into the railing, and then shoving him over the railing, but there's nobody there.

"See! He's already helping you!" Hockstetter roars with laughter as Bill falls over the railing, falling off the porch, and landing right in the bushes.

It _hurts_. He falls, his landing awkward, but rushes to his feet as Hockstetter leaps over the railing after him, blood spraying out of the wound in his leg. Bill shoves his way through the bushes, ignoring the feeling of the branches scratching his skin, the feeling like little hands are trying to hold him back, and runs back onto the lawn. He's not stupid enough to keep running in a circle on a porch, but he wonders how the hell Hockstetter hasn't already passed out, possibly even _died_ , from shock and then blood loss. He can already imagine how disgusted Eddie would be finding out that Hockstetter had two open wounds and had been in the sewer...

Hockstetter chases him across the lawn, one boy looking terrified out of his wits and the other looking like he was having the time of his life. Bill is running away from Hockstetter, but _backwards_. One would understand his need to keep his eye on the imminent threat, another would call him a stereotypical horror movie trope since he collides right with the trash cans and knocks them and himself over. Hockstetter laughs at him as he scrambles to his feet, one of which, the ankle is flaring with pain.

"C'mon, Billy," Hockstetter says lowly, still grinning. It's a game of cat and mouse, Bill realizes, and he does not like the fact that he's the mouse. "Fun's just beginning, right?"

And with a mad laugh, Hockstetter leaps over the trash cans as though his leg isn't even bothering him, blood squirting and then spraying out of his wound as though an _artery_ has been ripped open, and dousing the trash cans. He still takes no notice, Bill supposing that the adrenaline is keeping him going. Bill barely feels the grass touching his toes before he feels Hockstetter grabbing his shoulder, the pain flaring up again as Bill yanks it away, his heart pounding in his chest, his lungs already burning, and he starts running, his ankle throbbing with pain but even Bill knows it isn't broken. He runs off the lawn and into the street, Hockstetter right behind him, limping again.

"Don't be a prude, Billy!" Hockstetter cackles.

It is beyond Bill why nobody is turning on their lights from the loud noises, his dad especially. As though in a horror movie, the cliche character always falling to their feet while trying to run from the killer, Bill falls again, stumbling on his ankle. He's barely on his hands and knees, scrambling to get back up, before Hockstetter is grabbing his ankle and yanking him back. Bill doesn't hesitate in kicking him in the face. His ankle flares with pain, almost screaming, and his stomach clenches painfully, his inside shriveling with disgust, when he hears a sickening crunching sound and feels warm liquid on the bottom of his foot. He knows it's Hockstetter's blood and that he's just broken Hockstetter's nose.

"Like to play **_rough_** , do you? I can play _**rough**_!"

Hockstetter says this, though he lets go of Bill's ankle. The boy doesn't hesitate in getting back up and running down the street. Not a single light is on and there isn't even a single car parked in any of the driveways... as though nobody is at home or nobody has bothered to call the cops... It's the middle of the night! Bill keeps running, but makes the mistake of turning around enough to see what damage has been done. Blood is splattered on Hockstetter's face, his nose caved in and bent in the wrong direction. Bill ignores this and keeps running, not even sure of where he's going to go but anywhere is better than here... just as long as Georgie is okay... his bedroom light is still off... which means he's probably still sleeping... but _why_ isn't Bill's dad running out of the house to see what all the noise is about? Bill keeps running, turning away from Hockstetter, who's footsteps echo his own. Where the fuck is he even supposed to go?

It pops into his mind, like a little voice whispering in his ear, using the breeze to travel.

 _The corner of Jackson. And Witcham_.

Where Georgie said he had met Robert, or Pennywise. Bill isn't sure why out of everywhere he could be running to, that pops into his head, and he isn't sure why he listens, but he does. He takes the very same path Georgie did that day back in October, Hockstetter on his heels.

"Run, run, run, fast as you can!" Hockstetter laughs.

Bill ignores him and keeps running, though he's sure he's damaging his ankle even worse, but he can't think about that. His heart runs with him, possibly running even faster than he was, and screaming out his terror with its sporadic beats. The ground ripples under his feet, Hockstetter's blood staining the bottom of his foot, while the hard road scratches the soft flesh. The trees on the front lawns of the houses as he passes seem to be leering down at him... the branches seem like small hands with long, pointed fingers, all of them _reaching for him_... Bill shook his head.

_Not real... It's not real..._

But Hockstetter's footsteps pounding right behind him, almost matching his own... those were definitely real... and Bill doesn't want to find out what Hockstetter plans on doing to him if he catches him... He doesn't even understand why of all places Hockstetter would go to his house instead of a hospital... but it's not like he can just ask...

He turns on the corner of Jackson and Witcham, Hockstetter right behind him, and the thunder roars overhead. The rain starts pouring, the thunder bellowing suddenly above their heads. Bill feels as though he's jumped out of his skin, again, when lightning cracks across the sky. The bolt itself, not that he sees it, resembles a long hand reaching for something. Or some _one_. Bill nearly slips as he keeps running, his pajamas already soaked through and his shirt clinging to his skin. His feet are barely level with the storm drain Georgie said he met Robert at when he feels a weight slamming into his back.

Bill's legs go out from under him and he falls to the ground, landing on his chest and stomach, scratching his arms and hands and even his cheek against the street, the rain making the scrapes sting. His breath escapes him and he feels as though he's been socked in the stomach and the chest.He gasps, his head pounding, his lungs feeling as though they've been crushed. He feels as though he's been hit by a car... the sound of rushing water hits his ears and he realizes his face is level with the opening of the storm drain, the foul, putrid smell of the sewer burning his nose.

A hand grabs him by the hair and Bill lets out a pain cry, panic enveloping him like a blanket, as he reaches back and scratches at Hockstetter's hand. He lashes out and tries to kick at the older boy, but he simply sits himself on Bill's back and slams his head into the ground. Stars and black swirl in Bill's eyes as he starts to cry. Why _him_? Why _now_? _Why_ was Hockstetter doing this? _What_ was he going to do? What did _Bill_ do?

Hockstetter sits on him, his groin touching Bill's lower back, each of his hands holding Bill's wrists against the ground. Hockstetter giggles.

"Quit..." Hockstetter giggles, almost stupidly in a way but Bill knows something is honestly, _severely_ wrong with him right now, more than just being a school bully, " _clowning_ around," he cackles.

Bill grimaces as the rain lessens but doesn't completely stop, turning into a faint drizzle instead, the thunder rumbling distantly above their heads, and he feels Hockstetter's breath on the back of his neck, making the hairs prickle and stand up. He doesn't like this...

"She might leave me alone if I get rid of you," Hockstetter says suddenly, his voice low and not at all sounding dementedly overjoyed. Bill is silent. He has no idea who Hockstetter is even talking about... "I mean... she's not wrong... he is a softy... couldn't even get rid of me like they did..."

Hockstetter grins again, not that Bill can see. If Hockstetter was honest, he has no idea what's going to happen next. He barely survived the Chucky doll rip-off in the sewer, only surviving because the clown character had still been as small as a doll, and whoever the puppeteer was clearly had unresolved issues and hesitated long enough for him to get away, and he doubts he's got much longer. Especially if he does to Billy Boy what he _really_ wants to do. He lowers his head so that it's just inches above Bill's, but he's not looking at the younger boy. He's looking into the sewer, waiting for the moment the clown strikes. Or maybe the clown won't. But he knows, from his own experience, that the clown can't hold back much longer. But if he goes, then maybe Billy will go too.

"I hear redheads are good _fucks_ ," Hockstetter says, loud enough that it echoes in the storm drain. "Is that true?"

"Fuck off!" Bill shouts, trying to headbutt Hockstetter but the older boy just lifts his head back up, laughing.

"I had this really fun fantasy," Hockstetter continues as Bill starts squirming, trying to figure out how to get the older boy off him and then get away. "About you on your knees, your mouth full of _dick_. _My_ dick."

Something deep within Bill turns completely _cold_ at those words. Whatever it is _freezes_ over. Time itself seems to have slowed or perhaps it has even stopped entirely. He can't be serious... can he? That _can't_ be right! Bill's brain seems to have flat-lined... it doesn't make any sense to him... Hockstetter had called Stan a _flamer_ outside of school... he was friends with Bowers and his _homophobic_ friends! The worst part is the sickening realization of what Patrick really wants to do to him... at all is one thing... but to _him_... bile is rising in his throat, burning against the back of his tongue, a terror like no other surging through his veins like electricity.

"But knowing in you, you'd probably bite it off," Hockstetter continues as though Bill isn't now frantically trying to break free of his hold. The boy feels an agonized wail bubbling in his chest, threatening to break loose. "So, I've a better idea."

The _instant_ Bill feels Hockstetter's hand right _there_ is the moment he _snaps_. He throws his entire upper body backwards, successfully dislodging the older boy and Bill immediately flips himself over onto his back, ignoring the pain he feels from scratching his skin against the street. He kicks Hockstetter right in the crotch as his hand grips the storm drain, ready to use it to propel himself up and take off running as fast as his legs will carry him. However, Hockstetter is somehow faster than he is despite the adrenaline coursing through Bill's veins.

Hockstetter makes a sound that comes off as a mix between a maddened laugh and a hungry grow. He sits himself on Bill's legs, on his thighs, and punches Bill in the face. The red-haired boy's cheek and jaw flare with white-hot pain that stuns him. Hockstetter uses this moment to make a grab for the boy's wrists, but Bill starts clawing at him despite the dizziness.

"Get off me!" Bill screams, not even stuttering, as he squirms and kicks out, flailing like a fish out of water. "GET OFF ME!" he tries to pull Hockstetter's hand that's suddenly on his jaw, making the pain pulse and throb, and scratch at his face with the other. An icy terror is coursing through him, one with the adrenaline, pushing it over the edge, but it's still _not enough_. Hockstetter is still bigger and stronger than he is. Both of their legs are aligned with the storm drain. "GET OFF ME!"

Hockstetter mockingly yells in his face, grabbing both of Bill's wrists with his hands and holding them above his head. He grins down at the boy he's got pinned. It's a battle of wills at this point.

"You know," Hockstetter says in a low voice, still grinning. "I've thought about this for a _long_ fucking time," he says and Bill whimpers, trying to pull his arms out of Hockstetter's grip and trying to ignore the feeling of blood, Hockstetter's blood, touching his own skin from where it slides down the older boy's wrist. "Even before your slut mom ditched you and your little brother."

"SHUT UP!" Bill screams, his shoulders wracking with sobs. His skin is turning white from where Hockstetter is gripping him and without a doubt more bruises will decorate Bill's already pale skin, assuming he survives this... the boy thinks morbidly. "SHUT UP AND GET OFF ME!"

Hockstetter just lets out another wheezy laugh as he holds Bill's wrists with one hand. Bill _loathes_ how much stronger Hockstetter is than him. Even when he's _injured_. Hockstetters eyes rake over him and Bill's cheeks turn a bright, fiery red. He _knows_ his shirt is clinging to him, his nipples in particular are _cold_ , and he _knows_ Hockstetter can see through his shirt.

"Nice..." Hockstetter says, his free hand, the one without the injury, moving to touch Bill's chest. The boy stills when he feels Hockstetter touching him, knowing full well he can't dislodge the older boy a second time.

"Patrick... Patrick... pu-p-pu-puh-puh--" tears stream down Bill's cheeks, the rain lessening and unable to wash them away. "D-d-d-don't do th-this... please..." he begs.

Hockstetter ignores him and Bill bites his lip as he feels the other boy's hand touching him. He tries not to jump and yelp at the feeling of his shirt touching his skin and whimpers when Hockstetter grabs his nipple with his thumb and forefinger. He keeps begging for Hockstetter to stop, but he _doesn't_. Hockstetter's hand moves away from Bill's chest, but there isn't even a momentary relief before his hand is touching the waistband of Bill's pajama bottoms. The younger boy tenses. Hockstetter grins even more broadly, licking his lower lip the same way he had on the last day of school before reaching into Bill's pants.

Bill lets out a sharp cry, a horrific sound that only has Hockstetter cackling again, when he feels Hockstetter touching him _there_. _Without_ even the thin barrier of his pajama bottoms and his underwear.

"STOP! STOP IT! STOP IT!" Bill is screaming, kicking out his legs as though he's having a tantrum. He is, technically speaking. Only it's an indescribable terror that fuels him.

Hockstetter's hands wrap around Bill's private area, the boy still grinning is demented, wicked, _evil_ grin.

"I fucking knew you were tiny," Hockstetter giggles. "I'll bet even _Beaver_ -ly would have a bigger dick than you."

"STOP! STOP! STOP!" Bill repeats, screaming until he's hoarse. He still doesn't stop even once his throat starts hurting.

Bill whimpers, his wrists throbbing and his fingers feeling numb from Hockstetter's grip, as he feels the older boy's hand moving up and down an area that _nobody else_ but Bill is supposed to be touching. He grimaces as he thinks of Richie.

" _Try tickling your pickle for the first time_."

At the time it had been something so stupid, Richie probably only saying it to make himself sound cooler. This isn't _cool_. He's still begging Hockstetter to stop, the feeling of Hockstetter's hand infinitely worse than having his dad digging his fingers into his arm and his shoulder. He'd take the bruises over this... the feeling of Hockstetter's warm hand was nothing short of _revolting_. It felt like snakes were slithering inside of him, stirring his insides and making them _churn_. He felt like he was going to puke. Bill's skin felt clammy and cold, the feeling of insects crawling across the flesh erupting like goosebumps when Hockstetter started _stroking_ it.

Even worse than the realization about what Patrick was planning to do, what he was currently doing, was the fact that it wasn't going to stop until Patrick got his way... Bill sobs, the sound filled with terror.

"Patrick, stop! Puh-puh-puh--"

Hockstetter just laughs at him.

"Can you see him yet?" he asks, his eyes wide and maddened. Demented. "Coming?" Hockstetter leans his face over Bill's, his breath ghosting over his skin and Bill grimaces, disgusted, the smell of the older boy's breath. "He's coming for us, Billy..." he gives his wheezy giggle. "He's gonna kill me..."

"Please... stop..."

Hockstetter continues to ignore him, though he was receiving no reaction from Bill other than the sobbing. And yet his grin grows at that. He didn't expect much of a reaction from Billy anyway.

"Guess you're only for the clown, huh, Billy Boy?" Hockstetter asks, letting go of Bill's area and pulling his hand back out of Bill's pajama pants.

Bill trembles, his ears ringing. He felt dirty. Disgusting. _Stained_. His private area still felt as though Hockstetter had just dumped a bunch of wiggling bugs down his pants. He didn't know why Hockstetter was bringing up the clown... and he didn't care. He wanted to go home. He wanted to pretend this was just a really vivid, really fucked up nightmare... The clinking of Hockstetter's belt was like a gunshot in Bill's ears and he renewed his squirming, his flailing, his kicking, his sobbing and screaming, all of which were useless.

"Well, I'm dead either way," Hockstetter says, _still_ grinning. "Might as well have some fun first."

Bill's cry is caught in his throat, the sound coming out strangled, when he hears Hockstetter unzipping his pants.

Hockstetter freezes in place suddenly, and then he's gritting his teeth. Bill barely can see his face through his tears, but he can see the pained expression on the older boy's face. And then Hockstetter is screaming. A horrible, agonizing sound that can come from nothing else except sheer, indescribable _pain_. There isn't any fear on his face, only agony. He lets go of Bill, who quickly scrambles backwards, scraping his palms against the wet road, and watching with a horrified, transfixed shock. He's too afraid to even move farther back or even start running.

Bill sees that Hockstetter's leg, the already injured one, is bent at an awkward angle and is in the storm drain, clearly not of the boy's doing. Bill lets out a shrill, almost girly shriek when he hears Patrick's bones _snapping_ , the scream the boy lets out because of this nothing short of blood _curdling_ and bone _chilling_. The older boy is scrabbling at the road, scraping and scratching until his fingers bleed in a feeble attempt to pull his leg out of the storm drain, but he's suddenly yanked in by a large, monstrous hand Bill has only ever seen in horror movies, full body and all. Bill watches as Hockstetter's other leg bends and _breaks_ , the sickening crunching sound making Bill's insides clench something _awful_ , and Hockstetter's terrified face is the last thing he sees before the boy disappears into the darkness of the sewer. Bill doesn't see what happens next, only hears it. Somehow, he thinks that's even _worse_.

Screaming, high-pitched and a tell as to how excruciating the pain Hockstetter is feeling really is. Roaring. A vicious sound nothing short of _enraged_. Bloody sounds... spraying and spurting... Bill lets out a sharp, shocked cry when blood sprays out of the storm drain and splatters him in the face, the feeling of hot liquid touching his skin and soiling his shirt making him scream out in horror, his hands pressing against his face trying to wipe it away only to smear it. He holds his face, screaming and whimpering, almost blubbering. He can hear the horrific sounds of bones snapping and crunching, or maybe those mean the same thing, Bill isn't sure, and the worst of all is the _chomping_. Something his morbid thoughts conjure up is that he doesn't hear the sound of _swallowing_. As though whatever is eating Patrick Hockstetter doesn't want to actually eat him, only kill him. Or maybe whatever it is, is so revolted by what Hockstetter attempted to do... it finds the taste of him _revolting_... Whatever it is also happens to be using its teeth to kill...

And yet these sounds are nothing compared to the sound of tearing flesh and the sickening, gut-wrenching sound of gurgling. As though Hockstetter is gurgling on his own blood, and Bill doesn't doubt he is. The image that comes to Bill's mind is that of someone, Patrick, getting his throat torn out... by teeth... and then it's silent.

The rain has even stopped, the thunder has been silenced and there is no more signs of lightning cracking against the sky. There isn't a single star in sight either. Bill is soaked through, his shirt and pants and underwear clinging to his skin, his chest, his nipples in particular, feeling immensely cold, his hair sopping wet and his bangs clinging to his forehead, blood staining his face, smeared over his cheeks, soiling his hair, and even his white shirt. He feels exposed. Bill stares into the storm drain with unseeing eyes. His pupils are blown, his irises nothing more than thin rings around the black circles, and he's gasping for breath that doesn't seem to want to reach him. Bill doesn't even jump when he sees a bright, gleaming pair of bloody, dangerous red eyes staring back at him from the storm drain.

Whatever creature those eyes belong to says nothing at all. Bill says nothing either. He feels queasy and faint. His skin feels hot and cold, his back as though its been doused in icy water but he feels the unwelcome heat of shame and embarrassment, his stomach feeling as though bugs were crawling along his insides, gnawing away at them, as serpents wiggle and slither under his skin. He's sure if he had anything in his stomach, he would vomit. And yet as he stares into those scarlet eyes, he feels _comfort_. Whatever creature just killed Hockstetter isn't attacking him too... he takes _comfort_ in that... because whatever creature that is, some part of him, deep down, in a way he doesn't understand, already knows this creature isn't going to hurt him... Bill lets out a pitiful whimper as his eyelids flutter and his vision and brain go hazy, his limbs feeling fuzzy and his stomach hollow.

The creature watches Billy slump over, unconscious, and grumbles to itself.

 _At least she's quiet_... the creature thinks... _for now_...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I would like to point out that I never put Minor Character Death or even Character Death up after Chapter Four. Okay, I couldn't figure out another scene for Bill and Pennywise and decided to use not adding those tags after chapter four to an advantage.  
> \- Chapter seven is coming soon! I honestly have a hard time waiting on posting the chapters when they're written out. I think seven will be less grim. Probably should add those other relationships... eh, I'll do that later  
> \- Comments and kudos and constructive criticism is always welcome and appreciated!  
> \- I put up the "dark as fuck" warnings. It'll probably only get darker  
> \- I for one am hoping I got all of those annoying typos  
> \- He did mess up thrice. Not twice.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Chapter seven!  
> \- As I said before, this story is Billwise centered, though it's taking a while to actually get there, so the bathroom scene is tampered with and altered. Just saying ;)  
> \- Also, kind of a reference to the 1990 version with Beverly  
> \- Warning for the use of bullying, derogatory and offensive names. And a little bit of a warning for the "Aftermath" of the events of the last chapter  
> \- Also a warning for what I find to be an overload of cuteness  
> \- Let me know how this chapter was in the comments below!  
> \- ROCK WAR!

Bill is asleep on his bed, hours later, sunlight peeking into his room from between the curtains on his window. He's lying on his stomach, his feet touching his pillows instead of his head, sound asleep. He's having another strange dream.

Two laughing baby girls... a baby boy with particularly blue eyes and reddish hair that matches his own... they're all dressed like clowns, though the little boy has different styled makeup than the girls do... his lips are red, the rest of his face white, and his eyes a happy, childish, completely rich blue. They're all holding dolls and smiling at Bill in the dream. In it, he can hear upbeat carnival music and smell cotton candy, peanuts, and popcorn.

Sweet and salty... buttery and something _good_... it's a happy scene...

Bill jumps awake, the faces of the three babies disappearing almost instantly along with the sweet and salty smells of a circus and the sounds of music, at the furious pounding on his bedroom door. Bill's head suddenly feels as though he's struck it against something. _Hard_. White blurs his vision and his head pounds almost in rhythm to his dad's fist against the door.

"Breakfast was supposed to be on the table ten minutes ago, Bill!" his dad's voice shouts through the door. Livid is a good word to describe his tone, Bill thinks, and that's just the nicer term for pissed. "You can either have cereal or make your own toast! I'm going to work!"

Bill barely even registers the sound of his dad's footsteps leaving, each one a purposefully loud thud as to further display how displeased -- _pissed_ \-- he is at Bill. The boy can't even be ashamed to say that he doesn't care at this moment. He presses the backs of his hands against his eyes in a feeble attempt to block out the offending sunlight that seems to want to burn his retinas. Waking up from a sleep or even a nap has always been something he's disliked. The crawling, creeping feeling of consciousness returning, the realization of how much time has passed, and right now, Bill feels _awful_.

Awful is the nicer word for feeling like ten pounds of shit in a five pound sack if Bill was honest. He can't remember his dream about the three babies already, the smell of sweets and the sounds of carnival music already fading away too, along with their happy giggling and the faces that had been on the dolls, but he can remember almost every vivid detail of what was either a horribly vivid nightmare or a terrifying traumatic experience. His lips are already curved downwards because he doesn't have it in him to be smiling right now, but it deeps into a full frown as he distinctly recalls Hockstetter's screaming... the sound being _too vivid_ to be from some twisted nightmare... right?

Everything comes flooding back to him as though a dam in his mind, in his memories, has broken and he bites his lip from the throbbing he gets in his head. The leak in his ceiling that woke him up from the first weird dream about the two baby girls, though there hasn't been a baby boy in that one. Bill hesitantly looks to the ceiling, which is completely dry. He doesn't see the bucket anywhere either... he remembers hearing the weird sounds on the TV and what had sounded like a small explosion happened in his house, as though the TV had shorted and the screen had shattered... and then Hockstetter chased him to the door, which had slammed shut and locked itself as though it was alive or some invisible menace was conspiring with Hockstetter...

He remembers running down the street... he remembers the feeling of hands pressing against his upper back, shoving him over the railing and into the bushes. They had been large hands, too, a strange thought tells him. He doesn't know where it came from, but knows it was true... dream or not.

Bill trembles suddenly as the _other_ memories come back to him. His arms are shaking as he wraps them around himself, already feeling as though bugs with too many legs were crawling down his skin, goosebumps already erupting like small volcanoes down his arms. He remembers the feeling of being soaking wet because it was raining, and he had been wearing a white shirt that clung to his skin and... bile rises to his throat, burning the back of his tongue and he nearly gags, breathing quickly in and out through his nose and trying to keep his mouth shut. And Hockstetter had touched his chest... and then... he'd touched...

Disgusting as it is, Bill swallows the vomit that rushes into his mouth, hating the burning feeling and hating the foul taste it leaves behind. He can already imagine Eddie complaining... he shakes his head as his entire body trembles. It feels as though bugs are wiggling in his pajama pants, too, and creeping and crawling on his skin, on his private area, as snakes seemingly slither through his insides, urging him to puke some more and actually spit it out. He puts his hands over that area, as though protecting it from another groping hand. He even lays down on his side, laying his head on his pillow, hands between his legs, curling into the fetal position, trying to not think about it to no avail, the damn thoughts wouldn't leave his head. But Hockstetter had said something... because Bill wasn't reacting... probably in the way Hockstetter wanted him too...

" _Try tickling your pickle for the first time_."

Bill wasn't sure if he wanted to punch Richie or Hockstetter... and then knew immediately he could never look Patrick Hockstetter in the eye again or even look at him at all, assuming it _was_ a horrifyingly vivid, extremely twisted nightmare. Bill wouldn't admit it, to anyone, but he hadn't done... _that_. Not before that horrible nightmare (he was _hoping_ it was a nightmare) and he had no intention of even thinking about it probably for a good long while. Still, a nightmare version of Hockstetter or not, it made Bill sick to his stomach to think about Hockstetter touching him that way. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think about Hockstetter touching him and pointing out that Bill was small... he tried not to think of the nasty comment he made about Beverly too... he tries not to think about that... He thinks of something else...

He remembers those eyes... well, he remembers Hockstetter pulling his hand out of Bill's pajama pants after having gained no reaction other than Bill crying... Bill's head jerks as he closes his eyes, trying to remember what Hockstetter had said... he'd said _something_. Something to the effect of having gained no reaction from him touching Bill's... area... _what_ had he said?

" _Guess you're only for the clown, huh, Billy Boy?_ "

Bill had no idea what the hell that was supposed to mean. If he meant the same clown Georgie honestly thought was his best friend in the whole world (after Bill, which Georgie had explained himself), then what the hell did he know? Bill hadn't even _met_ the clown yet. Unless Hockstetter was talking about someone else, but he couldn't have been. Well, there was Richie, who considered himself to be the Class Clown at school, but that didn't make much sense either. Bill didn't think Hockstetter had been talking about Richie, though Bowers did like to call them that offensive word. Bill still didn't think Richie was the one that Hockstetter was talking about... he would prefer to think it was just his brain screwing with him and giving him a really fucked up nightmare, mixing Hockstetter's and Bowers' bullying and the clown and the circus all in one...

He remembers the eyes even more vividly, more so than Hockstetter touching him. He remembers Hockstetter undoing his belt and trying to pull down his zipper... and then Hockstetter had started screaming. Agonizing was an understatement when describing the sound, Bill thought. The sounds echoed in his head, Hockstetter's fairly deep voice having gone high-pitched and becoming desperate as he had tried to pull himself out of the storm drain, his hands scraping and scratching against the street to get away from whatever had been attacking him. Bill had heard every second of it. Every second of whatever it was _eating_ Hockstetter. The sound _had_ to be too vivid to come from a nightmare... right?

Bill remembers the blood splattering him on his face and his shirt. He had started to blubber, words unable to come to him and his thoughts incoherent, trying to wipe the blood from his face only to smear it and make it worse. The eyes had appeared in the storm drain, the same one Georgie said he met Pennywise at, and they had been unlike any other eyes Bill had ever seen before. Even on animals.

Red. Just red. They had been like red rings around circles of black. Vivid. Livid, actually, but in a way he didn't understand, he knew that whatever creature those eyes belonged to wasn't livid at _him_. And in the nightmare (it _had_ to be a nightmare because things like people getting eaten by red-eyed monsters in storm drains just _didn't_ happen) the creature hadn't attacked Bill after it was finished with Hockstetter. They could be described in different ways, Bill thought. Ruby red, like two glittering rubies shining in the darkness of the storm drain. Bloody red, a mimic of the blood that the creature had shed when it killed Hockstetter. Bill trembled.

It had to be a nightmare. A really vivid, really fucked up one because something like that... Hockstetter attempting to kill him in his dream would have been one thing, but Patrick Hockstetter, or anyone for that matter, trying to _ra_ \-- Bill gagged, but there was no food in his stomach to come out. He was certain dry-heaving was worse than actual puking with how his throat constricted. He's shaking, head to toe, still curled into himself and still holding his private area protectively. His eyes are already stinging, turning watery as tears escape past his eyelids. He can't stop them. Dream or not, something like that just doesn't go away.

He shivers. He doesn't even fell like he's slept a wink. He feels like he's run a marathon, got doused in rain, and hit by a truck all in one, which doesn't settle his nerves. His wrists throb as he looks down at his hands. They're not bruised, he sees. He doesn't know if that's because it was just a nightmare or because they actually healed faster than the ones from his dad had. That last one doesn't make sense because Hockstetter -- hopefully a dream version -- had held him pretty fucking tightly, his grip _worse_ than Bill's dad...

His dad never gripped him to the point where his bones felt ready to break... Bill wondered if the lack of bruises meant he should be relieved...

His stomach rumbles faintly, but he doesn't think he can eat anything and he's sure as hell not going to try and eat something only to unintentionally waste it. He doesn't need his dad mad at him for that... he just hopes his dad had the decency to make Georgie something to eat... toast or cereal...

"Bill!"

Bill jumps, crying out in pain from the throbbing that erupts in his head. He sighs and grimaces. He can't worry about it. It was just a dream, he tells himself. A really, really, really, _really_ bad one. Bill honestly doesn't care about Hockstetter or his well-being, but hopes that he can avoid him the rest of this summer...

"Beverly's on the phone!" Georgie says from behind Bill's bedroom door, sounding too happy for words.

Bill grumbles under his breath as he moves his hands from his area. He feels completely spent, exhausted even, and he just hopes that when he goes into the living room, the TV is still there. Then again, it has to be because he is a hundred percent positive that his dad would have woken him up with a screaming fit instead of just pounding on the door if the TV was destroyed...

He stands, his legs wobbling, his crotch still feeling as though bugs are crawling in his pants and his stomach as though serpents are wiggling around inside of him, and grabs his shirt. Not a trace of blood. Not even a drop. He sighs as he undresses and dresses for the day. He tries to ignore and forget his dream and already the memories of it are turning blurry, already fading away. Except those eyes. Those eyes linger in his thoughts as he leaves his bedroom, his knees unsteady and his legs feeling ready to collapse. He hadn't even notice the damp spot on his bed that matched the shape of his body or even the dampness of his pillow. As a matter of fact, he didn't even notice that his hair was sticking up from multiple ends on the back of his head and not just because of bedhead. Rather, it was because of lying down in his bed with wet hair...

Relief. Bill feels relief when he walks downstairs and into the living room, ignoring the kitchen entirely.

The TV is perfectly fine, sitting there as it always had. Everything in the house looks as it always did, as though nothing had happened at all last night. But a question still prickles the back of his mind and forces its way to the front.

_Why?_

_Why_ did he have such a horrible, painfully vivid nightmare about Patrick Hockstetter of all people? He hasn't even seen Hockstetter since that last day of school... come to think of it, he honestly hasn't seen Patrick Hockstetter since the last day of school... he's not complaining either. But then why would he have a nightmare like that? Bill sighs through his nose, willing himself to forget about it. He finds it ironic that when he tries to remember, he can't, and when he tries to forget, he can't. He takes the phone from Georgie.

He barely even understands what Beverly is saying other than she wants him to come to her apartment. He does, however, hear perfectly that she _doesn't_ want him to bring Georgie with him. That comes as a surprise to both Bill and Georgie, the latter looking disappointed and even hurt. Bill doesn't like that look on his little brother's face. At all.

Beverly is sitting on the steps outside of her house, smoking a cigarette. It brings, just momentarily, relief, though she knows the smoky smell will linger unless she sprays on perfume, which she has no intention of doing, or unless she chews on some gum and blames the smell on someone else she was unfortunate enough to pass by, but she doesn't have any gum or the money to buy some. She takes a puff, staring out into the vast sky and even at the streets in the distance. She isn't entirely sure as to why, but she distinctly remembers a man screaming and sobbing alongside her as she thinks of the blood... if it weren't for all of it still staining the bathroom, she could've just wrote it off as a horrible, particularly vivid nightmare... but the blood still remains and she just hopes the others, minus Georgie, see it because if not, then she's pretty sure she's gone crazy...

"No, we gotta go through the alleyway," she suddenly hears Stan's voice say.

"The alley takes too long," she hears Eddie's voice say.

She turns her head, quickly standing.

"No, the alley is so much faster," Stan's voice says.

"The alley is more dangerous and it's disgusting," Eddie's voice says. Already, she can tell he isn't happy.

"How is it more dangerous?" Stan's voice asks. He sounds just as unhappy as Eddie, if not annoyed with the other boy.

Beverly quickly tosses the cigarette to the side, discarding it and hoping the smell doesn't linger. Then again, she knows that Bill knows she stole the cigarettes from the pharmacy, and she thinks the only smell her dad cares about is the smell of her mom's perfume...

"It smells like pi-- _pee_ and it's gross," Eddie's voice says, sounding more and more unhappy. Annoyed. "Just take the side streets for once."

"Oh, my God," Stan's voice groans, definitely annoyed. "The side streets are the same. Even Georgie knows that. They all smell like pi-- _pee_ and sh-- _crap_."

Beverly honestly thinks that under any other circumstances, she would be grinning, entirely amused and entertained by their arguing, if she wasn't completely terrified out of her wits right now and actually annoyed with Bill. She knows that since Stan and Eddie are clearly trying to watch their language, and Stan said his name, that Georgie is with them. Beverly does like Georgie since he's adorable, funny, and honest, and one of the sweetest people she's ever met, but she doesn't think she wants him to see the blood... assuming the boys can see it, too.

"Okay, okay. Can you tell me what she said exactly?" Eddie's voice asks, still sounding grumpy.

"She didn't say anything," Stan says as Beverly races down the steps, passing by a bored looking neighbor girl.

Beverly just hopes that the girl minds her own business...

"She just said that you guys need to hurry over."

"She didn't say anything. Okay. Okay," Eddie's voice grumbles.

Beverly runs onto the grass just as the boys pull their bikes up.

All five of them are on their individual bikes, Georgie on the back of Bill's. All of them are staring right back at her, each one looking just as confused and curious as the last.

"You made it. I..." Beverly starts and then stops herself. Her heart is racing in her chest. She is honestly hoping they see the blood, just to prove she's not crazy... or maybe it would be better if the blood was gone and she just imagined it... Her annoyance bubbles over as she glares at Bill, surprising the boy.

It wasn't that she didn't want to hang out with Georgie, quite the opposite, actually. She just doesn't want _him_ to see the blood... assuming they _can_ see it... Not only that, but she can't help but wonder _where_ the blood came from. How does... how does that even _work_? And the _voices_... Veronica and Betty... possibly the screaming man... the other three voices... she doesn't want to mention the voices because she can't prove those were real, though the blood would, but she knows hearing voices isn't a very good sign either. She misses the frowns on the faces of the Georgie, Stan, and Eddie dolls.

"I need to show you something," Beverly says quickly, feeling nervous and scared.

"What is it?"

"More than we saw at the quarry? You are aware that we _do_ have Georgie with us," Richie says.

"Shut up! Just shut up, Richie," Eddie snaps.

Beverly swallows, her nerves feeling jittery and a mix between hot and cold. She stares at Bill.

"I told you not to bring him," she says quietly.

"I... I wasn't g-g-g-oing to l-lu-luh-luh-leave him," Bill says.

Her heart stings at the hurt expression on Georgie's face.

"I didn't... I didn't... I don't want him to see it..." Beverly admits. "It's... my dad will kill me if he finds out I had boys in the apartment..."

"Then we'll leave a lookout," Bill says. "R-Richie s-sta-stay here... you, t-too, G-G-Guh-Georgie."

All of the boys let their bikes fall, even Stan. Georgie's lips part as he looks between Bill and Beverly, disbelief on his little face as he holds the three dolls in his arms. Although he knows betrayal is a strong word, he can't help but feel _hurt_. He feels left out. He thought Beverly was his friend and Bill is his big brother. Bill leaving him out of Beverly's big secret with Richie and the looming threat of Beverly's dad finding out that they're there feels _cold_. It _stings_.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! What if her dad comes back?" Richie demands, voicing his discontent. "And why the fuck am I playing babysitter?"

"-- not a baby," Georgie murmurs, looking away from Beverly's apartment building. He doesn't even _want_ to look at it anymore.

"Do what you always do," Stan says, turning around as the others start heading up the stairs. "Start talking."

"It is a gift," Richie says, forlornly, as Stan turns back around to follow the others.

Georgie's lower lip is quivering. He's trying not to pout but it's hard. It _stings_. Bill was supposed to be his best best friend, and here he was, ditching him with Richie again. Leaving him in the alley with Ben was one thing, but Beverly's dad could come back at any time... Georgie's eyes sting and turn watery.

"Quit pouting. I'm fucking stuck out here too," Richie says unhappily.

Georgie doesn't even have the urge to kick him in the shin for his bad language.

"Yeah," Georgie says, sniffling. "But if her dad comes, you're on your own."

His tone is snappish, but that's not what affronts Richie.

"What the fuck, dude? You're gonna run and fucking ditch me?" Richie asks, looking and sounding, indeed, affronted.

"Yes," Georgie says bluntly.

The dolls don't even smirk with amusement at that or even roll their button eyes.

Beverly's heart is thudding in her chest, her stomach seemingly twisting itself into nervous knots. She isn't sure which is scarier; the idea of possibly being crazy if the boys _don't_ see the blood, or the idea of something being completely and utterly and terrifyingly _wrong_ since she heard voices from the sink, though she still has no intention of mentioning _that_ , and there is blood all over the bathroom. She stops at the end of the hallway, Bill and Ben beside her and Eddie right behind Bill.

"In there," she says quietly.

The door is shut, she couldn't stand leaving it open, and if the blood really is there, then she honestly has no idea as to how her father can even _use_ it. Her own blood turns cold at the idea, her stomach shriveling with disgust, and she feels nauseated at the idea. She hasn't even used it since the blood appeared.

"What is it?" Stan asks, hesitant.

"You'll see," Beverly says.

She doesn't want to try and explain it and then end up scaring them off if they thought she was some kind of psychopath or playing some kind of prank...

"Are you taking us to your bathroom?" Eddie asks, already sounding terrified as all five of them slowly walk towards the door. "I just want you to know that 89% of the worst accidents in homes are caused in bathrooms," he says, starting to stutter on his words. "And, I mean, that's where all the bacteria and fungi are and it's not really a sanitary place..." he says, starting to mumble.

Bill opens the bathroom door and Eddie starts whimpering. Beverly's heart feels as though it's just dropped into her stomach before plummeting completely out of her body.

The blood is still there. It is still covering the walls, the toilet, the sink, the bathtub and the shower curtain and even the windows and mirror and every item in the bathroom like a second layer of paint.

"I knew it!" Eddie gags, the sudden smell burning his nose and making his stomach churn.

"You see it?" Beverly asks, nearly whispering.

"Yes," Eddie says quickly, fearfully.

"What... What happened in here?" Stan asks, sounding just as scared as Eddie.

"My dad couldn't see it. I thought I might be crazy," Beverly says quietly.

"Well, if you're crazy, then we're all crazy," Ben says.

"W-w-we c-c-can't leave it like this," Bill says quietly. He understands then. "I get why you didn't want Georgie to... s-s-see it..."

"I wasn't sure if you guys would be... able to," Beverly admits. "And... if you did... I didn't want him too..."

"Let's just..." Eddie shudders, "... get this over with..."

Moments later, Beverly is scrubbing at the mirror. Ben watches before turning away. Bill is mopping the floor as Stan scrubs the window while Eddie exclaims with disgust behind his mask. Beverly is more than thankful that they helped her clean it, thinking it would've taken longer to do it herself...

They dump the blood away into the bathtub, unaware of just how _guilty_ the faces of the three dolls look right now in Georgie's arms. And _scared_. With more facial details, the dolls would resemble someone who is guilty because they did something bad, and is clearly _terrified_ of being caught, and clearly, clearly, thinking of a lie to spin...

Bill walks out of the bathroom, a garbage bag in his hand. He doesn't really notice that Ben and Beverly are alone in the bathroom. The postcard is in Beverly's back pocket, something Ben notices and manages to smile at. It was the only thing, when Beverly stood herself up, that wasn't completely covered in blood, though the part of the bathroom underneath it had been. If she didn't know any better, she'd say the postcard hadn't been in the bathroom during the splatter, but it obviously had been, or someone or some _thing_ had cleaned it, but she hadn't. It had just been clean...

"You know..." Beverly turns to look at Ben. His eyes are shy as he fiddles with his fingers. "Bill mentioned the Derry Summer Fair on the way over..." he says quietly. "Have you been there?"

"No, I don't think so," Beverly says, chuckling.

She doesn't feel like telling Ben that the real reason she's never gone to the Derry Summer Fair is because she had no friends to go with and didn't like the idea of being spotted by Gretta if she did. Not only that, but her dad never gave her any money to go.

"Well, Bill said he goes there every year, but there was one time he went with Richie and he technically won the game since he hit the target... but there were a bunch of prizes so he didn't know which one to... pick," Ben says quietly, rubbing his arm nervously.

Beverly frowns as she stands beside him, both of them facing the bathtub and the wall.

"Georgie was right, you know," Beverly says, biting her lips. "What they say about me."

"Oh," Ben says, smiling slightly. "I didn't... I didn't believe them, anyway..." he says. "And... that's not really my business... that's... your business..." he says awkwardly. He clears his throat, just as awkward. "Guess Georgie's smarter than the rest of the guys, huh?"

They share a small chuckle at that, though Beverly frowns as she looks back at the bathroom door, debating. She's unaware that Ben is having an internal debate himself. She still isn't sure which boy wrote the poem, the obvious answers being Bill, Stan, and Ben, but she does remember that Bill had been more focused on his little brother than anything else.

"I was only ever kissed by one guy, and that doesn't count... it was just for a stupid play I didn't even want to be in," Beverly says, her cheeks growing warm. "It was a long time ago, anyway."

"Third grade," Ben says.

Beverly raises an eyebrow, turning towards him and staring at him with wide, questioning eyes. Ben realizes what he just said and clears his throat, the dorky feeling returning full throttle. "You know... Richie... he, uh... he mentioned it..."

"Of course," Beverly says, smiling. She fully intends to get him back later. She continues staring at Ben, who is now pointedly looking at his fingernails with the shyest look in his eyes, his chubby cheeks the faintest bit of pink. She understands then, because there is no way anyone is that interested in their fingers. "'January embers'."

Her smile turns into a small grin as she watches his cheeks darken. Visibly.

"I... I wasn't sure if you liked... poetry..." Ben admits, rubbing his arm nervously as an internal battle wages on in his belly. Nervous, jittery butterflies against jealous, stingy hornets even though Bill isn't in the bathroom anymore.

Beverly's own heart feels much like a bird, spreading its wings for the first time and soaring through an endless sky. The color of that sky is clear. A joyous blue. In her chest, it even feels like the bird's wings are flapping in her chest, soft feathers tickling her skin. She grins a girlish grin, her own cheeks warm.

"It was a nice poem," Beverly says. She presses her lips together to hold back the laugh, or maybe the girlish giggle, that wants to break free when Ben's cheeks turn red. "I liked it," she says truthfully.

Ben smiles shyly. The jealous hornets disappear as the butterflies flutter happily, any nervousness and jittery feelings quickly following the hornets.

"It was the first thing anyone's ever written for me," Beverly says truthfully. "The only compliment anyone's ever given me... other than Georgie..." she says before laughing at the memory and how awkward Bill had become.

"Yeah, well, whatever Georgie said... was definitely true..."

Beverly can't help but smirk.

"You don't even know what he said," she points out. "For all you know, he could've said something honest but really mean." She can't help but laugh at the awkward, almost scared look on his face. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Georgie's too sweet for that," she says, still smiling. "But not as sweet as you."

Ben's own smile grows. The dorky feeling growing as his smile does.

"I tried to say... um... 'Please Don't Go, Girl'," he says awkwardly. Dorky. "You know... that's another... _New Kids on the Block_... song..."

Beverly grins.

"That was on the last day of school, wasn't it?"

"Yeah... it was..." Ben looks down at his hands. "... dorky."

Beverly's cheeks stretch as her grin grows, ear to ear, and she takes his hand. It feels soft and warm in her own hand, just a little bit smaller than hers.

"You're a dork alright," she says. "But you're a cute one."

Ben's smile widens. He wants so badly, maybe more than anything else int he world, if he could be _her_ dork. Her _cute_ dork. She called him cute.

"Just... just so you know, I... I never really believed any of the rumors," Ben says truthfully. "I mean... I got kinda jealous when Richie said that about you and Bill... even if it was for some play..." he says awkwardly. "I think... I think Georgie was definitely right, about Henry making it up..."

"I think so, too," Beverly says, lowering her eyes. "Kind of sad, isn't it? That a seven-year-old kid knows Henry Bowers is full of shit."

"I think everyone knows he's full of... that," Ben says. "They just don't want to admit it. Except Georgie. He's a good kid..." he lowers his own eyes. "I think you hurt his feelings."

"I didn't mean to... I didn't want to," Beverly says. "I just didn't think he should see it... assuming you guys did..."

"Well, I think he'll forgive you when you find your doll."

They share a laugh.

"I like hanging with you," Ben says honestly. "And I think the others do too, Georgie especially. I guess people who don't have many friends gotta stick together, right?"

"You mean us losers have to stick together," Beverly says, still smiling. "It's okay. 'Loser' is definitely better than... what Gretta has come up with."

"Well, Gretta's probably just jealous," Ben says. "Not because of the... Henry thing... just... well, probably about the Henry thing but I think it's mostly because she knows she's not as cool as you."

Beverly is still smiling as Ben starts to stumble on his words. The boyish and dorky feeling seemingly working in tandem to keep him from speaking.

"So, when the circus comes... or, well... opens... if I can... get a new doll and you... find yours," Ben clears his throat, looking immensely awkward and nervous as he bumbles. "I mean... we'll all probably go together... since Eddie found his... well... maybe... I didn't know if you... wanted..."

"To go with you to the circus?" Beverly asks knowingly. Ben smiles even more shyly. "Definitely."

Ben grins. Though then his eyes widen.

"That's not a date... right?" he asks quickly before regretting it instantly.

"Nah," Beverly says, smiling broadly. "Unless you want it to be," she says, bumping him on his arm. "Don't worry, I don't bite," she says. "Much."

They share another laugh over that. One is smiling boyishly, the other is smiling girlishly.

"You are definitely a dork," Beverly says. "But you're _my_ dork."

Ben's boyish smile is beyond words. It is a smile so radiant, a heart so fluttery and overjoyed, which makes it feel as though the metaphorical butterflies are dancing together under his skin, and the sun itself, in comparison to Ben's smile, would look rather dim.

Outside, down the street...

"C'mon, Georgie," Bill sighs as Georgie pointedly holds his head down, holding all three of the dolls to his chest.

The minute he saw Bill and the others coming back down the stairs, he climbed off Bill's bike, nearly falling over as he did, and had refused to get back on it and instead settled for walking ahead of all of them, except Richie, and hadn't said a word even though they had tried to explain that he shouldn't have seen it anyway.

Georgie honestly thinks he's more upset with Bill than he is Beverly, which makes him feel worse on the inside even though Bill was the one who refused to leave him at the house, but then refused to let him see Beverly's bathroom. While Georgie refuses to talk, Richie does plenty of complaining for the both of them.

"No, I love being your personal doorman/babysitter, really," he says sarcastically, biking around them, even Georgie, in a circle. "Could you idiots have taken any longer? Georgie threatened to fucking ditch me if her dad came back!"

"Can't blame him there," Beverly mutters as she tries to reach for Georgie's shoulder but he coldly snubs her, jerking it away from her and stepping forward even more quickly, his head hanging even more low.

"All right, shut up, Richie," Eddie says.

"Yeah, shut up, Richie," Stan adds.

"Oh, okay, trash the trashmouth, I get it, but when Georgie gets his diaper in a twist it's a free country for pouting, I get it," Richie says, still annoyed. "Hey, I wasn't the one scrubbing the bathroom floor and imagining that her sink when all Eddie's mom's vagina on Halloween."

The button eyes on the dolls do roll at that.

"Shut up!" Bill snaps. "She didn't imagine it and that's disgusting!"

"Oh, please, Georgie always ignores us!" Richie snaps right back. "I don't get why you make such a big fucking deal out of it! He's just pissy now since he's finally figured out that he's in the same league with me. Not yours."

"It wasn't like that," Beverly says quietly.

"G-G-Guh-Georgie," Bill says.

Georgie stops in his tracks.

"It's not nuh-nuh-nice to ignore people... s-she just didn't want you to see th-the bl-bluh-blood..."

"It's also not nice to ditch people with Richie," Georgie says unhappily.

"Hey, screw you!" Richie snaps and Bill glares at him. "Where the hell would it have even come from, anyway? You'd think a rip-off of the bed scene from _A Nightmare on Elm Street_ would've come out of the toilet instead of the sink or even the bathtub."

Beverly sighs, annoyed.

"I can see why you're mad," she says.

"I'm still here!" Richie snaps. "The first time you ditched me with him was when Ben got carved by Bowers, so does this mean I can expect to play babysitter every time you imagine blood or clowns?"

"She didn't... im-imagine it," Bill says quietly.

He lowers his eyes. The nightmare hasn't left him. He tries to forget about it, shove it to the deepest, darkest corners of the back of his mind but it fights its way back to the top. He tries to think more about it, but then it disappears into a mist that forms in his mind, one he can't see anything in. But since the blood... it's been nagging at his thoughts, prickling at them like the thorns of a rose. Whether it's a blooming one or a wilting one, he isn't sure. Or maybe it's both.

The TV, however, was perfectly fine this morning and there were no bruises on Bill's wrists from where Hockstetter had grabbed him or even a goose egg on his forehead from where his head was slammed into the street. He knows his dad would have been pissed at him if anything had happened to the TV even if it wasn't Bill's fault, and the trash cans hadn't even been knocked over from when Bill had tripped and fell into them. They had been standing upright, as though they never fell at all.

Hockstetter's screams echo in his head as those red eyes stare back at him...

"Have... have any of you..." he starts to talk but a lump forms in his throat as his eyes sting. His thighs tremble as he remembers Hockstetter's hand down his pants... he tries his hardest not to start puking and not just because he doesn't want Eddie to complain about how disgusting vomit was and start contemplating on what disease Bill might have... his chest heaves. "Have any of you see... Patrick?" he asks quietly, swallowing the bile that rises in his throat and closing his eyes, trying his hardest not to start crying as his knees quake.

"Patrick Hockstetter?" Beverly asks as they all stare at him, even Georgie. "That jerk that hangs around Henry?" Ben frowns, remembering that Patrick was the one that took his doll. "No, why?"

"I..." Bill's lower lip quivers. "Nevermind..."

"What'd he do?" Ben asks hesitantly, warily. His cut stings as he thinks about Patrick, too, and he misses his doll. He's certain Patrick was the one who had it last. He has no idea if he gave it to Henry or if he wrecked it. "Did he get you too?"

"No..." Bill admits, opening his eyes. It's a shocking sight to see that they're pink and glassy, already red-rimmed and teary. "I... I thought..." he sighs. He doesn't want them to know about it. Georgie especially. "Nevermind... it's nothing..."

"It's obviously something or you wouldn't have asked," Beverly says.

She sees the look in his eyes. He's scared, but she's had that same look in her eyes before. It's a different fear than worrying about someone bullying you, maybe beating you up, not that Gretta ever actually put her hands on her, though for reasons unrelated. She knows Gretta has never used her fists because that's not how most female bullies work. They instead relish on the rumors they can spread, but Beverly has had her fair share of bullying from Henry and his goons. She remembers, all too well, the day they cornered her when she had been walking home from school. They wouldn't leave her alone, playing with her hair before she'd cut it, teasing her in ways she didn't like. Patrick Hockstetter hadn't joined in, but he was there, grinning at her. That was the only time she had been so happy for her father to come home... he had been pissed, thankfully at the boys and not her, but she remembered their foul touches.

Bill greatly resembles herself from that day. Shaking and trembling, his eyes pink and glassy and _scared_. She remembers how disgusting their hands had felt when they curled their fingers through her hair and poked and prodded at her face, brushing against her arms and shoulders. The memories now even brought back that same feeling of goosebumps on her flesh, bugs crawling down her skin. She has a disturbed feeling that Patrick did something similar to Bill, or at least attempted to.

"Bill..." she says softly, empathetic.

"I..." Stan speaks up, looking hesitant, "I don't think I've seen him since that last day of school."

"And we care why?" Richie retorts. "I don't see a problem with that."

"I thought..." Bill says quietly, almost whispering, "I thought it was just a really... me-muh-muh-messed up d-d-dream... the TV... exploded... he... chased me to the co-corner of J-J-Jacks-son and W-W-Wuh-Witcham... the storm drain..."

"The same one where creepy clowns hang around?" Richie asks.

Bill doesn't even have the heart to glare at him.

"Something... attacked him..." he said.

"Still not seeing a problem with that," Richie says.

"The TV's fine," Georgie says, frowning. "It didn't look like it exploded."

"See, just a nightmare, Billy Boy," RIchie says, circling around them again. He misses the full body flinch that courses through Bill. Beverly doesn't, having the same reactions whenever someone called her Beaver-ly after that day Henry and his goons cornered _her_. None of them even realize that the nickname makes Bill feel as though he's stepped into the shower and turned the water onto full blast, but it came out _cold_. "The only thing we've got to worry about is creepy clowns with dolls that look just like us, right, Eddie?"

"Shut up," Eddie grumbles. "That was fucking creepy and he didn't answer any of my questions about the health code violations..."

"But he was nice to you, wasn't he?" Georgie asks, smiling as they resume walking and biking down the street.

"So what if he was?" Eddie snaps. "Still fucking creepy that he got the doll into my fanny pack without me even noticing," he hisses. "I don't care if he was hot, that was still really stalkerish and creepy and then he had the balls to tell me that he didn't have a unicorn! I mean, it's like he was listening to our conversation in the Barrens!"

Seven pairs of eyes turn to look at Eddie. Five of them are with faint shock, the sixth, smaller pair with entertainment, and the seventh, blue pair with a smug look. None of them even realize the part about the unicorn, which was a conversation that the clown was not part of. A conversation that, to their perspective, happened without the clown ever knowing about it.

"What?" Eddie snaps, not understanding why they're all staring at him now.

Stan, Bill, and Ben look surprised, but not as much as Richie. Beverly looks incredibly smug and has a look of knowing. And Georgie looks far too entertained.

"What?"

Richie recovers first, and hides his curiosity under sarcasm.

"Okay, so Eddie's got a boner for Georgie's creepy clown," he says, grinning.

Eddie's eyes widen with realization, horror dawning on his face as Beverly bites her tongue, trying to hide back her amused grin.

"Shut up! Just shut up, Richie! That didn't mean anything!" Eddie snaps, his voice quicker paced than usual.

"Yeah, yeah," Richie says, disbelieving. "Any of you losers coming with me to the arcade? I'm playing _Street Fighter_."

Eddie grumbles and frowns.

"Fine, but make one more comment about the clown and I'm shoving your bike up your ass," Eddie snaps.

"I might like that," Richie retorts as they walk their bikes next to each other. "Besides, don't act like you wouldn't take me to the hospital even if you managed to get the handle up there."

"Oh, that is just --"

"Hey, you said it, not me," Richie points out, still grinning.

"Will you just -- you are being so unbelievable right now --"

Both boys keep bickering, though mostly Eddie is the one doing the complaining, as the group bikes down the street together, Georgie still walking.

"Hey, can any of you lend me some cash for some tokens?" Richie asks.

Eddie grumbles.

"You can have a dollar."

"A _dollar_?" Richie asks, looking shocked and even betrayed. "That's _it_?" he asks before grinning again. "Hey, quick question, how hot was the clown? God knows Georgie can't answer that. Scale of one to ten?"

"Will you shut the fuck up?" Eddie snaps, his cheeks reddening with embarrassment.

"Both of you shut the hell up," Bill grumbles.

"You two bicker like a married couple," Stan adds.

Bill can't even be annoyed with the memories Stan's words bring him, since the description is so accurate.

"I can see that," Beverly says, nodding slightly.

"See what?" Eddie asks, looking confused.

Richie, however, has gone quiet. Another shocking sight.

"Oh, please, we can all see it," Stan says, the first one to notice Richie's unusual silence.

"See what?" Ben asks, also confused. Bill nods, also not getting it.

"Well, as long as they're happy, what's the problem?" Georgie asks, still smiling as he climbs onto the back of Bill's bike, gripping Bill's shirt.

"Does this mean we're forgiven?" Beverly asks, hopeful.

"Sure," Georgie says.

"Future reference, Georgie, if someone actually does piss you off, you need to learn to milk it," Richie says.

"Don't tell him that," Bill snaps.

"Why? It's useful life advice," Richie retorts.

"Yeah, if you're an asshole," Eddie snaps back.

"Just try not to get your asses kicked by Bowers," Stan says, shaking his head as he keeps peddling.

"Henry Bowers just needs to make some friends that don't like to beat people up," Georgie says.

"What're you guys even talking about?" Ben asks, still confused.

Stan, Beverly, and Richie all stare back at Ben and Bill, both boys sharing a look of pure confusion. Even Georgie is staring at Beverly with an expression that says he doesn't understand how they cannot understand it. Richie looks faintly nervous while Georgie looks smug, not that Bill can see that.

"We'll tell you when you're older," Georgie says smugly.

Both Stan and Beverly laugh and even Richie snorts.

"So, who all has their dumb tickets?" Richie asks. "Stan, Georgie, Eddie, Ben lost his, so that leaves me, Bill, and Beverly. Think he'll actually get another one?"

"Sure, sure, he will," Georgie says. "Pennywise will give him a new one or he'll somehow find the first one."

"Which one is Pennywise?" Eddie asks. "I saw two clowns."

"Was the other one also hot?" Richie asks, grinning.

"No!" Eddie snaps, his cheeks reddening further.

Georgie shrugs, his smile turning childish and delighted.

"I guess that means there's more than one clown," Ben says.

"Well, don't circuses have a bunch of clowns?" Stan asks.

"Yeah, but if they're all hot as Pennywise, Eddie might be screwed," Richie says.

"Will you shut the --" Eddie lets out a groan of frustration. "I'm not bothering with this. It's fucking pointless. I will not raise my stress levels over this, they're high enough already from cleaning that blood and God only knows what kind of diseases were in it. Nope. Nope."

Richie snorts again. A shit-eating grin stretches on his lips.

"Can only virgins see the clowns?" he asks. All of them groan except Georgie, as he doesn't have a clue what the word means. "Is that why I'm not seeing this shit?"

Bill sighs and shakes his head, Beverly rolling her eyes and Stan staring at Richie with an annoyed expression.

They all turn their heads when they hear indistinct chattering in the distance. Bill turns first and sees Belch Huggins' car next to a bike with a basket on it.

"Oh, shit ,that's Belch Huggins' car," Eddie says, his heart dropping into his stomach. "We should probably get out of here."

"Yea."

"Wait, isn't that the home schooled kid's bike?" Bill asks, pointing at the bike with the basket.

"Yeah, that's Mike's," Eddie says quietly.

They all understand what that means. Even Georgie understands.

"We have to help him," Beverly and Georgie say together.

"We should?" Richie asks, hesitant.

"Yes," Beverly says, letting her bike fall to the ground.

Georgie jumps off Bill's bike, ready to follow, but Bill grabs his wrist.

"It's n-nuh-nuh-nice that you want to be nice to B-Bo-Bow-Bowers... b-but he will hurt you," Bill says quickly.

He does not want his little brother anywhere near Henry Bowers. Especially if he's in the middle of bullying some kid.

"No, he won't," Georgie says, smiling up at Bill. "You're there."

The idea that Georgie thinks he will be safe as long as Bill is with him makes the boy feel both guilty and flattered, but he can't risk his little brother getting hurt.

"G-G-Guh --" he starts but Georgie wiggles his wrist out of Bill's grip and takes off running after Beverly and towards the car and bike. "Hey!"

Bill throws down his bike, not even caring that he's leaving it in the middle of the street. His heart pounds as he chases after Georgie.

"Get back here, Georgie!" he yells, not even stuttering as Ben and Eddie quickly let their bikes fall to the ground and all three boys follow after Beverly and Georgie.

"What are the chances we can run for our lives right now and not feel guilty for it later?" Richie asks, thinking of Georgie.

He knows that if anything does happen to Georgie just because he and Stan acted like pussies and ran with their tails tucked between their legs, Bill would never forgive them and they would never forgive themselves.

"Zero," Stan says grimly.

Richie sighs as he lets his bike fall to the ground too, though Stan takes the time to prop his bike up and both boys run after the others.

The back of Mike's head is throbbing from where Bowers has his foot pressed against it, trying to shove his face down into the raw meat. The smell of the rawness and the blood is burning his nose and makes him want to vomit.

"Come on," Bowers urges, grinning nastily.

Mike strains, his hands hurting from where the ground is scraping against his palms and fingers, his elbows and arms burning as he tries to keep his upper half away from the ground and his face away from the meat. He knows his grandfather is going to be mad, but not at Mike unless Mike lies to him about how he lost the meat, because he knows his grandfather will know he's lying...

"Eat that meat!"

Mike groans with disgust, gagging, as Bowers successfully pushes his face against the meat. The wet sliminess touches his forehead and his nose. His doll is laying right next to him, Belch's foot on it just like Henry's, and it's frowning now. Its black button eyes are shining, but with sadness and anger.

"Eat it, bitch!" Belch shouts. "You little fucker!"

"Bitch!"

"Motherfucker!"

"Eat it, you little bitch!" Belch snaps.

"Pussy!" Vic laughs.

Through blurry vision, Mike sees someone a distance away in the bushes, not that far away, but he can only see the back of the person. He isn't even sure if it's a man or a woman, but whoever it is, they're clearly eating something. Even from a distance, Mike can just briefly see whatever it is they're eating... and it looks like an _arm_ with half-eaten _fingers_. He can even hear distant chewing sounds, vicious snarling, and wonders if it's not even a person but an extremely large animal, but whatever or whoever it is is wearing what looks like a white, dirtied, and bloodied suit...

"Fucking..." Belch laughs. "Whatcha gonna do, huh?"

"Get up!" Bowers snaps at him.

Mike stares at the figure, rising slightly and moving his face away from the ruined meat, watching as whatever or whoever it is lifts is head and violently chomps down on what it's eating. He briefly sees the side of its face and the corner of its mouth... which has blood all over it... its' large... monstrous...

"Get the fuck up!"

Mike cries out in pain, white flashing across his eyes and making the creature disappear, when Belch suddenly kicks him in the face, sending him flying backwards.

"You little fucker!" Vic shouts.

Bowers shoves him down, climbing on top of him and he yells in Mike's face. Mike pants as he tries to shove Bowers off, a mad shine in the older boy's blue eyes. Bowers holds Mike's wrist down with one hand and grabs a large rock with the other. His nostrils are flared, his teeth gritted, his eyes gleaming nastily. He has every intention of smashing Mike's head with the rock until there isn't a head _left_... Mike sees it in Bowers' eyes. Death. _His_ death.

"Come on, Henry, smack him!" Vic urges, clearly ignorant of the madness swimming in Bowers' eyes.

Henry grunts suddenly, flying back when he feels a sudden, hot flash of pain in his forehead and feels the skin of his forehead split open.

The four boys look over to where the rock came from. They see a girl, Beverly Marsh, standing on the other side of the stream. They see a curly-haired boy, who the bullies know is Stanley Uris, standing next to her. Then Eddie Kaspbrak, the Denbrough brothers, Ben Hanscom, and Richie Tozier all run up behind her. In Georgie Denbrough's arms are three little button-eyed dolls. One resembles himself, one resembles Stan, and the other resembles Eddie.

"Nice throw," Stan compliments Beverly, surprised that she had such good aim and more surprised that she actually hit Henry Bowers in the head with a rock.

"Thanks," Beverly says as Bill bends down to pick up some rocks.

He does, however, shove Georgie behind himself, acting as the little boy's shield.

Mike quickly snatches his doll, which was no longer trapped under Belch's foot, thankfully, and trudges through the water, barely even able to stand up. He slips and slides, not even caring that his clothes are getting wet, and heads over to them. His heart is pounding, relief coursing through him. Beverly and Eddie reach down and grab some rocks at the same time. Ben and Stan copy this, reaching down and grabbing some rocks for themselves as Belch and Vic help Henry to his feet. The Losers know something is coming, and they'd rather have plenty of rocks than none at all.

A cut is just under Henry's bangs, inches above his eyebrow, a trail of blood already sliding down his forehead. Shock is in all of their eyes, Losers and bullies, but Henry is the first to recover.

"You losers are trying too hard," Bowers says as Mike crawls onto the rocks. "She'll do you. You just gotta ask nicely," he says, making Beverly fold her arms over her chest, disgust crawling through her veins like a disease. "like I did," he says, grabbing his crotch with both hands, making Belch and Vic laugh.

"You're full of shit!"

Everyone, Losers and bullies, stare behind Bill, at Georgie, with shock. Even the dolls, though lacking in facial expressions, have their mouths curved into a shocked "O" shape.

"You just made that up to make yourself look cooler!" Georgie shouts. "That's _not_ nice!"

Beverly would have been flattered, had it not been for what Henry said next.

"Seriously, _Beaver_ -ly?" he asks, sneering. "What is he? _Seven_? Are you that much of a _slut_ that you --"

Georgie throws the dolls down, missing the pained expression that crosses their faces, and snatches a rock from Eddie and throws it at Bowers. Georgie had been fully intent on being nice to Henry and Belch and Vic even if they weren't nice back, but nobody, _nobody_ insults his friends. Beverly especially. And Georgie isn't stupid or as naive as Bill seems to think. He knows that since mom went away, Henry Bowers has been meaner to Bill. Nobody, _nobody_ messes with Georgie's big brother. _NOBODY_.

Georgie's rock hits Henry in the head, the same exact spot that Beverly had struck. Henry grunts with pain and stares with shock. Ben suddenly lets out a yell, one akin to a battle cry, and does the same thing, hitting the exact same spot. Henry's eyes water with pain as the spot throbs, his heart starting to race in his chest.

"What the fuck?"

"More hugs, huh?" Richie asks.

Of course, he quickly backs away before Georgie can kick him in the shin.

Beverly grunts as she throws another rock.

"Come on, get 'em! Fuck!" Bowers shouts, bending down to grab his own rocks.

Soon, everyone is reaching for their own rocks except Mike, who, at the moment, is still watching with shock.

"Rock war!" Richie screams.

He then grunts, falling backwards onto the ground when a rock nails him directly in the head. Yet it didn't even knock his glasses askew.

The eleven kids are grunting as they all start throwing rocks, the bullies severely outnumbered, three to eight.

"Get 'em!" Bowers snaps.

"Watch out!" Stan warns.

"Fuck you, motherfuckers!" Richie shouts.

Eddie lets out a sharp cry of anger, or perhaps even repressed rage, as he throws a rock, Georgie jumping down beside Beverly to throw his own rocks. Surprisingly, even though his arms are shorter and his hands smaller, he manages to hit Vic Criss right where it _hurts_.

"You little fucker!" the blond boy screams, holding the sensitive area as he falls to his knees, his eyes watering.

Beverly, Eddie, and Georgie all throw themselves into the water, on the front lines as it were. The fight is monumental, not that any of them realize this. Though, it is quite strange, quite the alteration, even, considering the fact that Georgie is throwing rocks alongside Beverly. The boy doesn't even realize that with every step he takes, a new rock appears. The thing is, they weren't there before Georgie had approached and was reaching for them.

The rock fight is monumental, because all six of the losers are sick of the bullying, and Georgie too remembers the time Bill had come home, sometimes from school or even during the summer, sporting bruises and black eyes because of Henry Bowers. The seven-year-old supposes that niceness can be saved for later.

Hearts pounding, blood pumping, adrenaline spiking, the eight of them keep throwing rocks, quickly getting the upper hand against the bullies, though Stan is mostly dodging while Beverly, Eddie, and Georgie take point, Ben, Mike, Bill, and Richie supporting them from behind.

"Fuck outta here!" Richie screams.

A rock nails Belch in the head, not that it came from any of the losers or even Georgie. The angle was wrong.

"Ow!"

Bowers slips, his legs going out from under him when he gets hit in the leg, and falls on his bottom.

"Ah, shit!"

Belch stands upright, a look of anger on his face.

"Fuck you, bitch!" he yells at Beverly, who, with her teeth gritted and her blue eyes wide with rage that had been suppressed for _years_ , throws another rock.

It seems to happen in slow motion as she throws this rock and it hits him right in the side of his head, right into his hat. Bill, next to Georgie, throws more rocks at Vic alongside his little brother.

"Come on, guys! Lets get 'em!" Eddie yells.

"Fuck this," Vic says, sick of having rocks thrown at him and _fucking pissed_.

"Fuck out of here," Belch agrees, both boys running off.

They don't seem to realize they've left Henry behind to pick up the already broken pieces.

"Fuck you, losers!" Vic shouts, holding his groin as he limps away. "And your little brother is dead meat, Denbrough!"

Henry is lying on the ground, bloodied and dirtied. _Defeated_. His blue eyes are wide with shock, his heart beating unsteadily. He doesn't understand... it's not right... what just happened... _What just happened_? It was one thing getting into a rock fight with the losers... Trashmouth or Four Eyes, the Jew, Wheezy, Fatty, the Sluts, Billy Boy and Beaver-ly, and Homeschool... and then Denbrough's little brother joined in... but... they _lost_. _Henry_ **lost**... if his _dad_ found out... if _anyone_ found out...

All of them are panting, the Losers and Georgie, all of them surprised at what they just did and even more surprised at the fact that they actually won. Ben looks back at Beverly, who's staring back and Stan is standing behind her. Bill is standing next to Georgie just as Richie and Eddie are standing next to each other, Mike right behind them. Eddie's hair and clothes are wet from where the water had splashed him, his socks and shoes soaked and his hair clinging to his forehead. Bowers hesitantly tries to get up as Stan helps Mike limp back towards the trees.

"C'mon, Georgie," Bill murmurs, trying to urge Georgie to follow.

He turns and walks away, making the mistake of not taking Georgie's hand to make sure the boy follows.

Bowers is still staring with shock at all of them, his brain unable to process what has just happened. He doesn't feel at all remorseful for getting into a rock fight with the Losers, and he certainly doesn't feel remorseful for the years he's spent bullying most of them. Instead, he feels as he always does whenever his dad is in a drunken fit or just bored or angry at something and makes Henry his outlet for his anger... he feels _terrified_. If word of this got out, he'd be a fucking laughingstock. The realization that he not only lost, but that Belch and Vic ditched him, is nothing short of embarrassing. Humiliating. The rage from these two facts has yet to ignite like a struck match in Henry's core, but the boy knows that when it does, someone is going to be _burned_. The question is: _who_?

"Go blow your dad, you mullet-wearing asshole!" Richie shouts at him from across the stream, flipping him off with both hands.

Richie runs away, following the others, before Georgie can kick him in the shin. Georgie is the last one standing, none of the Losers having realized he wasn't with them. Not even Bill or Beverly.

He and Henry stare at each other for a few moments before Georgie, still wearing his green galoshes, starts walking towards him, carefully treading through the water as to not trip and fall.

"Get the fuck outta here, you little fucker!" Bowers screams at him, his face contorting into an ugly sneer.

Georgie doesn't flinch at the mean word he's not supposed to say, the one of many words that Bill doesn't like his friends saying around him, nor doe she stop in his tracks, startled by Bowers shouting at him, nor does he run away in terror from the idea of what Bowers could do to him, whether it's by his fists, a rock, or even his knife like Ben. And it is perhaps the fact that Georgie is fully aware of what Bowers could do to him that either makes him really brave or really stupid.

It depends on perspective, really.

For a moment, he stands over Henry, but for only a minute, before he's bending down and holding his hand out, offering it to the older boy, a small, warm, and welcoming smile on his face. The kind of smile that has never before been offered to Henry Bowers even when he was younger and before he became a big bully.

Henry doesn't take it, too surprised by this rather... _kind_ action. He's learned from persona, physical experience that the eyes are the literal window to the soul, and few people are good at hiding their emotions. He can see that the littler Denbrough has no ill intentions towards him, no rabid wolf hiding in a meek sheep's clothing. He can see that Georgie is honestly offering him his hand out of the goodness of his heart, rather than sneering smugly in a way that says, " _I beat you. You suck. Take my hand so I can mock you some more_."

Already, Henry can see that Georgie Denbrough isn't like that. The feeling of indescribable humiliation wriggles like snakes through his insides, in his stomach, and yet it is torn between becoming infinitely worse because of Georgie, Denbrough's little brother, offering his hand out after getting into a rock fight, or becoming lessened because someone, for once, is showing him genuine kindness.

"C'mon," Georgie says, still giving him that small smile that some part of Henry finds endearing, and some part of Bowers finds annoying. Infuriating, even. "I'm sorry I hit you in the head with a rock..." Georgie says, sounding genuinely apologetic, "... but you did call Beverly a mean name and made fun of her name... c'mon..."

Not waiting for Henry to respond, he grabs Henry's hand with both of his and does more to help the older boy to his feet than Henry does. Then he's violently shoved down by his face.

"Get the fuck away from me!" Bowers screams. "I don't need your fucking pity!"

He looms over the younger boy, his hand itching to grab a giant rock and smash the younger Denbrough's head in, the same fantasy he'd had for Mike, but something stops him. Or someone. Henry briefly glances into the trees, sensing eyes staring at him, and sees a grown man standing in the bushes, in the exact same spot that Mike had been looking at only minutes before, not that Henry realized that. It is an adult, Henry sees, a clear indication to stop the bullying lest an actually responsible adult intervenes, but he's dressed in a white clown's suit, his face even painted like a clown's, though he doesn't have bright, colorful clown hair. Instead, he has dark brown hair and a mean look on his face that screams danger. Henry reads the warning expression easily, almost instantly understanding it.

 _Touch him again and you'll regret it_.

It is the exact same look his dad has given him for years, almost as though the person staring at him isn't some weirdo in a clown suit but actually his father. It is the same exact look that has haunted his dreams, turning them into nightmares, for _years_. Henry stills, starting to shake with genuine _terror_ , as the clown keeps staring at him. His eyes aren't any color Henry has ever seen before. They're yellow, ominous (which only adds to the clear warning he's giving Henry), and Henry's frown deepens. Especially when he sees the blood staining the front of the clown's suit and even his mouth as though something has splattered on him or he's _eaten_ something.

Georgie sits up, grimacing in pain as he massages the now sore spot on the back of his head.

A lump forms in Henry's throat, his tongue feeling too heavy in his mouth, as his skin turns cold even though it's incredibly hot outside...

"I'm sorry I hit you with a rock," Georgie repeats, helping himself up. Not like Henry was even offering him his hand. "But you did call Beverly a mean name and lied about her."

Henry scoffs.

"You know she's just a skank, don't you?" he asks.

Georgie's own frown deepens.

"No, she isn't," Georgie says. "I know she isn't and so do you. You don't need to lie about people to make yourself look cooler," Georgie says, though he does lower his eyes. "I don't get that. Why do you come off as cooler and people bully her? Not really fair."

Bowers scowls.

"The fuck do you know about being cool?" he spits.

"A lot more than you do," Georgie says.

Henry lowers his eyes, still shaking as he clenches his fists.

"Get lost," he says.

"No."

"I said 'get lost'!" Bowers screams at the little boy.

"And I said 'no'," Georgie says.

Bowers glares at him, shaking head to toe.

"The fuck do you even want?" he demands.

"To be your friend."

Henry blinks. His mind turns blank. White noise seems to echo in his ears. He didn't know what he had expected Georgie to say, but it definitely wasn't _that_.

"What?" he asks, his body feeling numb and his brain stupid.

"I want to be your friend," Georgie says. "And not the kind of friend that beats people up because they think it's funny. It's not funny. It's hurtful."

Bowers sneers and then scowls.

"You're an idiot," he spits.

"Yeah, and you don't have any real friends," Georgie says, not retorting but honest, as he looks around.

Specifically, he looks to where Vic and Belch took off running. Henry understands the point the boy is trying to make, as Belch and Vic, the two people who were _supposed_ to be his _friends_ after Hockstetter, who he hasn't even seen since the day they cornered Fatty at the library, who had the stupid doll last, ditched him when he needed them most. They hadn't even tried to help Henry to his feet before running off.

"But if you wanted, I would be your friend," Georgie says, staring up at Henry.

There isn't a trace of hesitation or deceit or even fear in his eyes. Henry doesn't know if he isn't... _content_ with that fact or fucking pissed at it.

"You're a fucking moron," Bowers sneers.

"And you're lonely," Georgie says, still not retorting, only honest. "But if it disgusts you that much, I'll be your _secret_ friend. Just until you're ready," he says, smiling.

Henry isn't even aware that he's crying until the tears drip onto his torn shirt. If his dad doesn't kill him if he finds out that Henry got his ass kicked by a bunch of Losers, he's going to kill him about wrecking his shirt even if it could be easily sewn back together. Then again, Oscar "Butch" Bowers thinks sewing is only for _girls_. Henry learned that one the hard way.

"Are you going to the circus?" Georgie asks.

"Why would I?" Bowers asks. "It's for losers and babies, like you and your brother," he says coldly. "And all your dumb friends."

"A circus is a fun place for friends to gather and have fun," Georgie says. "Don't you have a doll?"

Henry looks away.

"Dolls are for girls," he says, parroting what his father once said to him. He flinches as he remembers the cracking of his dad's belt and the white-hot pain that flashed through his skin and seemingly pierced his bones. He was just a kid back then...

"What's the difference between a doll and an action-figure?" Georgie asks.

Bowers doesn't answer. Neither does Henry.

"Exactly," Georgie says, smiling. "Maybe if you were nicer, you'd get a doll too and get to go to the circus."

An interested look flashes across ominous yellow eyes...

"Yeah, right," Henry mutters.

He doesn't want to admit that he is somewhat disappointed that he hasn't gotten a doll. He's seen a couple of girls with them, like Gretta Keene and Betty Ripsom, the latter before she went missing, and some other girl he knew to be named Veronica, before she went missing too. Fatty had his doll, he saw the dolls in Georgie's arms before the boy had thrown them down, and had seen that they were supposed to be Georgie, Stan, and Eddie, which means the boys are getting them too. Henry then understands that other boys must have gotten them too, regardless of what their fathers might think about boys playing with dolls, whether or not they were tickets for some stupid circus. He doesn't want to admit that he's disappointed that he _hasn't_ gotten a doll.

"It's true," Georgie says. He smiles up at Henry. "You just need better friends or you and your friends just need to stop being so mean to people. Maybe if you apologized to Ben and Beverly, Bill and Richie, Eddie and Stan, then they'd want to be your friend too."

Bowers can't resist the snort of sheer, absolute disbelief.

"Don't you have a brother to get back to?" he asks, snappily.

"Yeah, but you're the one that needs a friend right now."

It is an instant just as much as it is a shock. Henry Bowers stiffens, caught completely off-guard, turning rigid, when he feels the brat wrap his little arms around his waist, Georgie's head pressed against his stomach.

"The fu--" Bowers stutters, "-- the fuck are you doing?" Henry demands, trying to shove the boy away but he grabs onto Henry's shirt.

Henry doesn't want to unintentionally rip it even further...

"Hugging you," Georgie says bluntly. "Friends hug each other when they're feeling sad, angry, or lonely."

The way he says those simple words makes him sound like he's the smartest son of a bitch Henry Bowers has ever met... or the absolute dumbest. The way he says it, so simply, as if he honestly thinks nothing can prove him wrong.

"I'll be your friend, Henry. You may not like me on the outside but on the inside, you definitely need a friend," Georgie says. "Even if I have to be your secret friend, I'm still your friend. Your secret is safe with me."

The smile that the boy is giving him is definitely the strangest thing Henry has ever seen in his entire life. More strange than the possibility of ever seeing his dad smiling at him, telling him that he was proud of him, or even that he loves him. All three, which, has never happened, the latter especially, and Henry sincerely doubts it ever will.

"You're..." Henry swallows the lump in his throat, his eyes stinging with tears as they slide down his cheeks and drip from his chin, landing on Georgie's head and wetting his hair.

_Boys don't cry. Don't be a pussy._

Henry remembers his father saying those exact words, more than once, before he used the belt or even his fists.

Henry's jaw hurts. His eyes are stinging. His chest is constricting. His stomach feels hollow. His bones like lead. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth and his throat feels like he's choking. It fucking _hurts_.

"Get off me..."

"Not until you at least acknowledge that you're enjoying this hug."

"You... you're so fucking... stupid..." Henry says quietly.

"Yeah, but you're thinking about it."

Perhaps it is only by the impulsive behavior, an automatic response to the mere idea of a boy hugging another boy, even it if isn't at all sexual, that Butch Bowers has buried deep in his son through the use of his belt, his fists, and his cruel, verbal abuse, spewing his own homophobic tendencies without thought or morals, that causes Henry to start screaming profanities.

"GET THE FUCK OFF ME, YOU LITTLE FAGGOT!"

Georgie blinks, looking up at Henry with a look of pure confusion in his brown eyes. Henry is shaking, visibly, his arms inches above Georgie's head as though purposefully trying not to touch him.

"What's a 'faggot'?" he asks.

"What you are!" Bowers screams, though Henry is still crying. "Boys don't hug other boys! Boys don't fucking cry!"

Georgie stares up at him.

"You're wrong," Georgie says, still refusing to let go of Henry. "When someone needs a hug, they deserve all the hugs they need until they feel better..." Georgie understands, somewhat, then. "My dad... he's mad at Bill a lot... he's had more bruises from dad than he ever did you," Henry's eyes widen. "He says mean things too. Dumb things. Your dad is like that, too. Isn't he?"

Henry says nothing. He remembers seeing Denbrough holding his shoulder before, after their mom took off with some rich asshole from out of state, and even his arm. Henry had mostly left Denbrough alone after their mom ditched, and knows that Belch, Vic, and Hockstetter had all left him alone too... though Henry has tubes of muscle relaxant at home to deal with his pain, he remembers the times when he didn't. The soreness and numbness afterwards, the aftershock of the moment of abuse, is worse than the moment when it's actually happening. Especially when the nightmares come. He then understands that while Georgie is somewhat naive, Bill's situation is steadily getting worse. He's certain that if something doesn't happen soon, then Denbrough, and maybe his little brother, are going to end up exactly like Henry.

The thought disturbs him for reasons it shouldn't. Reasons that Henry doesn't even understand quite yet. He just doesn't like the idea of Denbrough's dad being an abusive asshole, just like his own. And Henry already knows the feelings of hurt and disappointment, shame and regret, when he tries so hard to make his dad happy, to make him proud of him, to try and get him to tell him that he loves him, whether or not it's genuine, and it just doesn't work. He isn't sure why, but he feels _bad_ for Denbrough. His mind is so far gone that he doesn't even realize that he is feeling _empathy_.

Henry, sensing no other options, though he would only ever admit to himself that he _did_ enjoy the hug, that he _is_ enjoying it, simply pats Georgie on the head. His hands are shaking, his fingers twitching as his entire arm trembles, but he pats the kid on the head, just barely resisting the urge to hug the kid back.

"Good enough," Georgie says, looking up at Henry. The older boy is surprised to see how radiant the kid's smile is, as though Henry has just given him the most awesome toy or the best treat in the world. "I think you'd be a lot happier if you just apologized to Ben for cutting him, and taking his doll, and apologized to Beverly and Bill."

"Yeah, right," Henry snorts.

"It's true. The rumors about Beverly might not go away, but at least you apologized. My mom says that apologies are worth something when you really mean it," Georgie says, still smiling.

"Was this before or after she abandoned you?" Henry retorts coldly.

"Before."

Henry sighs, settling for patting the kid on the head again. He doesn't even realize that he isn't looking around to make sure nobody is watching.

"Yeah, fine, you hugged me," Henry says, swallowing thickly. "I feel... better..." the sad thing is that it wasn't a lie. "... get... get lost..." he says quickly. Nervously.

The last thing he needs is someone, his dad or Belch or Vic or any of the Losers seeing this random kid hugging him... right after they had a very violent rock fight with each other.

"Feel better, Henry," Georgie says, letting him go.

Henry would take it to his grave, the fact that he was regretful that Georgie ended the hug, as he watched the boy walk back through the stream. He watches as the boy gives him a happy wave goodbye before he departs, though he quickly bends down to grab the three dolls off the ground and brush the dust off of them. Henry's lips part with shock as he sees the blood staining the mouths of the dolls, though Georgie doesn't seem to notice. Nobody even seems to realize that Mike's doll has blood staining its mouth too.

He twitches, blinking rapidly, and sees that the blood on the dolls' mouths has disappeared. He brushes it off as a trick of the sunlight, which is glaring down at them. Georgie's grin is beyond radiant, beyond overjoyed, when he sees Henry shyly lift his own hand up, though it is still trembling, but still waving goodbye. Albeit a _very_ awkward goodbye.

But Georgie would probably never know how much that one little hug meant to Henry. Nor would he ever know, most likely, that it was the very first hug Henry Bowers could remember ever being given. Henry would never admit it, certainly not to Vic, Belch, or even the annoying little brat, and especially not his dad, but that hug? He actually though it... had been kind of nice... a mere fraction of a smile forms on Henry's lips... a hint of regret flashing in his eyes for throwing all of those rocks... but _only_ at the little Denbrough...

It was a start.

A pair of button eyes, though dim rather than shiny, stare at Bowers. Despite the lack of irises and pupils and actual facial expressions, it is quite clear that the eyes are alight with evident _interest_.

The button-eyed dolls in Georgie's arms and even Mike's hand are not so interested, instead they look quite petrified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Chapter eight coming soon!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Chapter eight!  
> \- So, obviously, I took a scene from chapter two and incorporated it into this and then went back to the first movie. Sorry about Richie's big moment not being in this chapter like previously promised  
> \- I made a big moment for Ben and Beverly so let me know how it went below!  
> \- Warning for female bullying, even though I had no idea how to actually write it at first  
> \- Warning for dorks lol

The seven losers are walking past the train tracks, the summer sun beating down on their backs, warming them, as a train passes by overhead. The adrenaline was slowly dwindling, but the immense feeling of satisfaction was more than good. For all seven of them, it felt amazing.

For Bill, Richie, Eddie, and Stan, it was for always being mocked and bullied, physically and verbally, whether it was for Bill's stutter or Stan's religion or offensive insults.

For Ben, it was for being cornered like an animal at the library and then literally cut open. Carved like a Thanksgiving turkey, as Richie had so eloquently said before. He was positive that the H-shaped cut would never fully heal and disappear, knowing it was a scar that would linger forever.

For Beverly, it was for having such a nasty, untrue rumor spread about her, and bullied about it, not even by Henry himself exactly, for years. It was quite possible Beverly was the one most at ease at the moment, the most content with herself.

For Mike, it was for being bullied about his parents, about being home-schooled, about other things...

All seven of them were quite sure that this was one of the most satisfying days ever. Consequences and potential beatings be damned.

"Thanks, guys, but you shouldn't have done that," Mike says.

He is grateful, more than. He is positive that Bowers was ready to actually kill him, smash his head with that rock until there was nothing left (the imagery made him grimace and repress a full-bodied shudder), but he doesn't want Bowers to target them now too. For no reason, with no actual obligation, they had helped him out of a really bad situation.

"They'll be after you guys, too, now."

"Oh, no, no, no. Bowers? He's always after us," Eddie says, turning back to look at him, a small smile playing on his lips.

All dangers and dirtiness aside, as he wouldn't even wish for Bowers to get a nasty infection from that cut on his head, he felt like he was on top of the world right now.

All seven of them are walking in a line. Yet none of them, not even Bill or even Beverly, are aware that Georgie isn't with them. Eddie is in the lead, Bill right behind him, Mike behind Bill, Beverly following Mike and Ben right behind her, with Stan taking up the rear. All seven of them know there are likely to be consequences, but it was a mere thought in the back of their minds that as long as they stuck together, Bowers, Belch, and Vic had nothing on them.

"I-I-I guess that's one th-thing we all have in common," Bill says.

"Yeah, Homeschool. Welcome to the Losers' Club," Richie says. "Just a fair warning, though, don't swear five feet within Georgie or Bill when Georgie is with us, which is all the time now. One will kick you in the shins and the other will hit you upside the head with whatever's he's got in his hand," he says, grinning. "Guess Georgie's the only one of us that pissed Bowers off on purpose."

Beverly grins slightly at that, though she does hope this doesn't mean Bowers will start targeting Georgie now. Or even Vic. She grins at the memory, which replays itself like a VCR tape in her mind, of Georgie's rock nailing Vic right in the groin. No less than what he deserved, she thinks.

If she was honest, she had been surprised, and even flattered, that Georgie was more than willing to throw himself into the rock fight despite the fact that he was adamant that Henry Bowers just needed more hugs, and it wasn't his fight to be in... and that was all just because Henry had made fun of her name and called her a slut... and made that nasty remark about Georgie... she looks up at Bill, expecting to see Georgie right next to him, and then her grin disappears almost instantly when she sees that he _isn't_.

She stops suddenly, sharply turning her head to look behind herself and nearly headbutting Ben on accident, and her heart seems to fall into her stomach and then out of her body when she sees that Georgie isn't by Stan either. Georgie _isn't with them **at all**_.

Her lips part as she shudders slightly. She doesn't see him anywhere. Her eyes widen, her terror rising as the worst-case scenario pops into her head. Vic and Belch had taken off, Vic promising Bill that Georgie was dead meat, but Henry had still been there... and Henry was the one with the knife...

"Bev?" Ben asks, worried by the terrified look on her face.

"Georgie?"

The boys all stop, Bill turning just as quickly, if not even faster, as she had, his blue eyes widening, as he too sees that Georgie isn't with them. His own heart seems to plummet out of his body.

"He's not with you!?" he demands, trying not to panic.

After the fight, after the scene Georgie had made, he honestly thought Georgie was walking with Beverly... but he _isn't_... A lump forms in his throat. Georgie honestly wouldn't have tried to befriend Bowers after _that_... Bill trembles... _would he_?

"I though the was with you!" Beverly says fearfully.

Richie, his own eyes wide with a sort of terrified worry, leans towards Stan.

"He's dead," he mutters.

"You, you, shut up!" Bill snaps, pointing an angry finger at him as tears well in his eyes.

_**Why** isn't Georgie with them?_

A white bird flutters and flaps its wings just above their heads, rolling its yellow eyes.

Any comedic effect from the simultaneous rising panic in all seven of them, even Mike, who only just met Georgie today and still technically hasn't actually _met_ him, is stomped into the dirt by the genuine terror that they are all feeling at the exact same time as the worst possible scenarios start popping into their minds, each one worst than the last even though if Henry had snatched Georgie while their backs were turned, they would have mostly likely have heard it. The button eyes on Mike's doll rotate slightly, a roll of them, as the bird rolls its eyes once more.

"Hey! Hey, wait up!"

The terror turns into relief almost instantly at the sound of Georgie's voice. Seven pairs of eyes look back at the train tracks to see Georgie right underneath, running straight for them, the same dopey grin on his face that he's had for months. He doesn't look at all harmed.

"Of course," Richie mutters, pointing.

He can see the three dolls in Georgie's arms, as they all do, and they all realize that Georgie must've stopped to pick them back up before trying to catch up with them.

"Hey, hey, wait up --"

Georgie falls forward suddenly, falling face first into the grass. Even from a distance, they can hear the thudding sound of a body hitting the ground and the unmistakable "oof" that escapes him from having the wind knocked out of him. The Mike doll, along with the three Georige is carrying, despite the fact that Georgie landed on them, smile slightly, obviously humored.

Beverly, Mike, Ben, and Stan manage to smile while Eddie sighs with evident relief, Richie rolling his own eyes, as Bill runs back to his little brother.

"Never do that again!"

Mike gives a chuckle, smiling at the scene.

"He the little guy of the group?" he asks curiously.

"The littlest," Richie says. "Even littler than Eddie," he adds, grinning at the annoyed look he gets from Eddie.

"I'm taller than Ben, shut up," Eddie grumbles.

"Yeah, but, Ben is --" Richie holds his hands in front of his stomach and then extends them out, puffing out his cheeks and clearly calling Ben fat, though he smiles and puts his hands into his pockets when Ben turns to look, "-- and you're a stick," he says, still grinning. "Ben's allowed to be short. All of his height is in his stomach."

"I swear to God, Richie --"

While Eddie and Richie bicker, or, more accurately, Eddie complains loudly at Richie, who makes snarky comments right back, the rest of the group watches as Bill helps Georgie to his feet, the younger boy grinning quite happily despite the large dirt smudge on his forehead. His grin grows even more wide, childish and boyish, when he spots the doll in Mike's hands. Richie stops his back and forth banter with Eddie to grin at Georgie, realization setting in.

"More hugs, huh?" he asks.

His grin dims slightly at Bill's glare.

Georgie just shrugs. He isn't stupid. He knows better than to actually tell Bill and his friends, though mostly Bill, that he actually hugged Henry Bowers and lived to tell the tale. He knows that Richie would even ask, "How the hell are you alive?" but mostly, he doesn't want to betray Henry's trust like that. He isn't stupid. He knows it took a lot for Henry to even just pat him on the head and then give him the shyest, most awkward wave goodbye, and he knows Henry isn't the kind of person to put his emotions on display like that.

"Little pottymouth, aren't you?" Richie adds, his grin returning. "I thought you didn't listen to us swearing."

"I just don't listen to you," Georgie says, smiling smugly as the others laugh at the betrayed look on Richie's face.

"You know..." Ben says suddenly, becoming shy as ever as the others turn to look at him, "I've got something... cool... to show you guys..."

Ben takes lead and they follow him back to the Barrens, Bill holding Georgie's hand, Richie just barely able to hold back his commentary, and Ben shows them a wooden door in the middle of the grass. He opens it and shows them a deeply dug hole in the earth, deeper than expected, with a ladder propped up against the entrance. Ben climbs in first, his heart hopeful, as Beverly follows him. She grins slightly as she sees it and looks around, already feeling cooled off from the summer heat.

It's deep and spacious, wooden pillars holding up the earth above their heads like an actual ceiling, with sheets of metal acting like walls to hold back the soil around them. It's an _underground_ clubhouse.

The others quickly follow, Richie right after Beverly and Bill after him. Of course, Bill makes Stan pick Georgie up and hand him to Bill instead of letting Georgie climb down the ladder himself.

"What the dick is this?" Richie asks. He expected something dorky or even a clubhouse in a tree. Not one under the ground like a totally cool hiding place, which he's pretty sure they're all going to need after today. "How'd you build it?"

"When did you build it?" Bill asks curiously, looking around.

"Here and there, I guess," Ben says shyly. "It was already dug out from something, so I just had to reinforce the walls and get some wood for the roof door, and that's pretty much it," he says, smiling. "Pretty good for my first time, huh?"

As he asks this question, he puts his hand against one of the pillars.

Beverly jumps and Stan yelps quite loudly, all of them jumping with shock, when part of the roof suddenly collapses and falls right behind Beverly and Stan. Richie grins.

"Now, that's a cool feature," he says. "What happens when you put your hand on the other pillar, professor?"

Eddie, of course, can't help himself. He's certain he can already feel spiders in his hair and he doesn't even want to imagine the kind of nasty things the dirt is filled with, insects and worms and all kinds of gross matter that is nothing short of infectious and highly contagious, and he doesn't even want to think about the dirty nails that Ben might have missed... the dolls roll their button eyes again. The white bird perching itself on a tree branch right above the entrance and it twitters mockingly.

"Okay, you see, this is exactly why there are safety cods, why we have permits," he says unhappily, slapping the back of his hand against the palm of his other hand. "This place is a death trap. You understand that?"

"Well, it's a work in progress. Okay, Eddie?" Ben says, faintly disappointed.

He thought it was cool. He wasn't really surprised that Eddie was unimpressed, but he thought it might've impressed Beverly at the very least... he was hoping it would have...

"Just so you know, I get hurt, you are liable," Eddie says, his tone warning. "And Bill will kill you if anything happens to Georgie."

The buttons on the dolls rotate yet again, another roll of them.

"And, also, what is this? The switch of an iron maiden?" Eddie demands, turning around and seeing the switch hanging from the wall.

"That's a flashlight," Ben says.

"What is that? A horse hitch?" Eddie asks, pointing. "When do you have horses down..." he suddenly spots a paddle-ball on the floor. "Oh, this is cool."

He bends down to pick it up, flicking a spider off it, which makes the bird narrow its eyes, and he quickly starts to hit the ball against the paddle.

"That was like, three dollars, so be careful with that, please," Ben says.

"I have one of these," Eddie says, not really listening. "Hey, Stan, you see this?"

He rapidly hits the ball against the paddle, right up close to Stan's face.

"Yeah, okay, can you maybe not?" Stan asks, flinching from the close proximity of the ball and the rapid tapping sound.

"Maybe not what? Yeah, yeah, hold on. Maybe not what?" Eddie asks quickly. "Be awesome and have fun and celebrate the magic of the paddle-ball?"

"I thought you didn't believe in magic," Georgie says.

"Shut up," Eddie says quickly. Bill glares at him.

Stan flinches again when the paddle-ball slips suddenly from Eddie's hand, nearly hitting Stan in the face as Eddie drops it, the ball snapping off the string. Ben sighs, disappointed and faintly annoyed. There's three dollars he's not getting back.

"Oh, good going, fucknut," Eddie says quickly, ignoring Bill's pointed glare. "You broke his thing."

"I broke it?" Stan asks, his eyes widening with disbelief.

"Yeah, you broke it with your face," Eddie says, giving him a look.

"What?" Stan asks, still unable to believe Eddie, as he loos at the floorboards that the ball fell between.

"I'm not putting my fucking hand down there."

Georgie steps forward, smiling, as he sticks his hand between the floorboards and pulls out the ball. He blows the dust off it, sticking his tongue out at Eddie.

"Wuss," he says happily.

"Don't call me a wuss!" Eddie snaps.

"He's not wrong," Richie says, grinning as he places his hand on a pillar.

Thankfully, nothing else collapses.

"Oh, you are not going to --"

Georgie bounces the ball and catches it in midair, smiling at it.

"This is the coolest place ever," he says. Ben smiles.

"Are..." Ben begins shyly, clearing his throat nervously as they all turn to look at him. "Are you guys going to the Derry Summer Fair?" he asks curiously.

Everyone shares a look.

The sound of excited chatter echoes through Derry as the parade walks through the streets, the marchers happily playing their instruments. Except for one.

Richie is playing a tuba that he _borrowed_ from one of the marchers and is playing it horribly. The others, Bill, Beverly, Ben, Mike, and Stan, are looking at the Missing Kid poster of Ed Corcoran, Dorsey's older brother, while Georgie plays with all four of the dolls.

"They say they found part of his hand all chewed up near the Standpipe," Stan says grimly.

Beverly looks back at Ben. She had seen Ed Corcoran before, in the hallways and sometimes in class, but she never actually interacted with him.

"He asked to borrow a pencil once," Ben says quietly.

Bill lifts up Ed's poster and sees Betty's.

"It's like she's been forgotten because Corcoran's missing," he says, stuttering a little.

The dolls frown, only Georgie noticing. The boy tilts his head curiously as the dolls which, despite their lack of facial expressions, hold the identical look of remorse. Richie continues playing the tuba, making the button eyes roll once more. Georgie smiles, but says nothing even though he knows it wasn't a trick of the light.

"Is it ever gonna end?" Stan asks.

The marcher snatches his tuba back, an angry expression on his face.

"What the fuck, dude?" Richie asks, throwing his arms up as the marcher storms off.

"What are you guys talking about?" Eddie asks, approaching with three ice creams and licking one.

"What they always talk about," Richie says, accepting the offered ice cream. "Either Georgie's stupid circus or the missing kids."

"I actually think it will end," Ben says quietly, "for a little while, at least."

"What do you mean?" Beverly asks, curious.

"So, I was going over all my Derry research and I charted out all the big events," Ben explains. "I have it at home... a bunch of photographs and reports from the history books..." he says.

"Nerd," Richie says, licking his ice cream.

"The Ironworks explosion in 1908, the Bradly Gang in '35, and The Black Spot in '62. And now kids being..." he trails off, ignoring Richie's comment. "I realized this stuff seems to happen every 27 years."

Bill stares at him. He counted it in his head too, but had made no comment.

"Why though?" Georgie asks, happily licking the ice cream Eddie gave him. "Why do bad things keep happening in Derry?"

"Maybe 'cause Derry had some really shitty luck," Richie says bluntly. "Or maybe because your creepy clown pal helped Ed and Betty out of some shitty situations."

The dolls are still frowning. The frowns deepen as Eddie speaks up.

"Wasn't... wasn't Corcoran's dad a dick?" he asks.

"He's not nice," Georgie says, looking up at him. "Dorsey told me he gets angry a lot. He almost hit him with a hammer for climbing a ladder in the garage... that was the day before he left."

"Well, that's pretty fucking grim," Richie says, taking another lick of his ice cream.

"Almost?" Stan asks warily.

Georgie frowns, thinking. Remembering.

"Dorsey said... a nice clown told his dad to put it down..." he says. He smiles brightly. He doesn't even stop to consider that Dorsey told him the clown told his dad to take a walk with him, and then Richard Macklin never came back and Dorsey had yet to see the clown again. "That was when he got his doll, too! Pennywise helps everyone! I bet he _did_ help Ed get away, Betty too. Maybe we'll see them at the circus."

"You and that stupid fucking circus," Richie mutters.

"But if their dad left, why is Ed still gone?" Stan asks. "And Betty?"

Georgie shrugs. He doesn't know any more than they do.

"Well, probably better to run away with the circus than to stay in Derry," Richie says.

'Yeah, but the circus is still in Derry. It hasn't even opened yet," Eddie points out.

"So..." Mike clears his throat. "You guys are going then?" he asks shyly.

"Well, Eddie, Georgie, and Stan all have their dolls. Ben lost his to Bowers," Richie says. "Bill and Beverly are still waiting."

"So are you," Stan says.

"Yeah, just the thing I want; a doll that looks like me and was made by a guy I've never even met but knows my name," Richie retorts. "I don't care how hot Eddie thinks the clown is, it's still pretty fucking creepy."

Eddie glares at him as the dolls smirk slightly.

"How'd you... g-g-get yours?" Bill asks Mike, who smiles.

"A bird gave it to me," Mike says. He chuckles at their confused, almost disbelieving expressions, and Georgie's curious one. "I know, I know, it sounds crazy, but I saw it. Flying above that meat store in town... well, it looked like it had balloons on its wings, but it dropped it right out of the sky, right into my lap after..." he looks down at his feet. "... after Belch tried to run me down in an alley," they all grimace sympathetically, Georgie frowning. "I mean, it's not so bad, is it?" Mike asks. "Kind of cool, right? How much effort this clown, Pennywise, puts into his circus. Pretty cool, too... to have a bird deliver some of the dolls..."

"Still the work of a total stalker," Richie says. "And creepy as fuck."

Eddie points at him, the look on his face clearly showing that he agreed.

"He got my doll into my fanny pack without me even noticing," Eddie says unhappily. He doesn't mention that since then, he's checked and double-checked and even triple-checked both of his fanny packs for any more dolls or unwanted (totally wanted) gifts from the clown. "He was right in front of me! I didn't even hear the zipper!"

Moments later, they're all sitting by the gigantic lumberjack statue. Beverly, Mike, and Ben are sitting on the bench, Stan sitting on the back of it, while Eddie, Bill, and Richie are sitting on their bikes, and Georgie is sitting on the ground in front of the bench, his back pressed against Beverly's shins. He's licking another ice cream cone and still holding all four dolls.

"You're gonna run out of room to hold those things," Richie comments.

"That's what I have two arms for," Georgie says, smiling pleasantly.

"Might get one broken," Richie comments. "After nailing Criss in the dick with a rock," he says, grinning at the memory. He then cracks his knuckles. "Tomorrow, I am officially starting my training. Any of you losers coming with me?"

"Might as well," Eddie says, also licking another ice cream. "Someone has to make sure Bowers doesn't kill you."

"Right, cause I don't need to outrun Bowers, just you," Richie says, grinning cheekily.

Not that he would ever leave a man behind like that. Although Stan is a maybe if it meant saving Eddie. Not that he says that.

Ben is staring a the dolls in Georgie's arm.

"So... the dolls..." he says, looking thoughtful. "Georgie got his from Pennywise back in October... I got mine in the library... I followed a red balloon and it was on the stairs..."

Georgie perks up, though he also accidentally smushes his nose into his ice cream, making Beverly laugh. And yet he is not deterred. Pennywise's words, more specifically, his riddle, echoes in his mind.

"The dolls see everything, the balloons will show you the way, but only the key opens the door," he says, grinning.

He's still grinning even as they all start staring at him with questioning looks, Beverly bending down to wipe the ice cream off his nose.

"That a riddle?" Richie asks.

"Uh huh," Georgie says happily. "Pennywise said it, back in October."

"Balloons show you where your doll is?" Beverly asks curiously.

"Well, I followed a red balloon," Ben repeats.

"I'm pretty sure the bird had balloons on its wings," Mike says.

They ignore how weird that still sounds, and Mike doesn't blame them.

"Are you all going to ignore the fact that he just said 'the dolls see everything'?" Richie asks, surprised. "Cause that sounds like some kind of Peeping Tom shit right there."

"Shut up, Richie," Stan sighs.

"Why am I the only one concerned here?" Richie asks, genuinely confused.

"But a key opens the door?" Beverly asks, grinning slightly at the annoyed look on Richie's face. "Wonder who's gonna get the key, then. Maybe it'll be some big carnival prize."

"Maybe," Bill says quietly. "And Stan got his from his dad... and Eddie got his from... P-P-P-Puh-Puh--" he bites his lip, trying his hardest not to grit his teeth in frustration, growing annoyed.

"We get it," Richie says.

"Would 'Bob' be easier to say?" Eddie asks.

Bill shrugs. The dolls scowl, staring at Eddie with a look of betrayal.

"I thought you said he didn't like to be called 'Bob'?" Richie asks.

"Yeah, but like that's going to stop you," Eddie retorts.

"Touche," Richie says, grinning. "I still say the whole thing is creepy as hell."

Richie turns his head when he suddenly hears crackers popping behind him. He sees the stage they set up for the fair and a clown standing on it. He swallows thickly, a sudden coldness that doesn't line up with the heat of the summer day washing over him as he stares at it. One side of the clown's suit is completely red, though the sleeve on the same side is striped, red and white. The leg on the opposite side is the same, decorated with red and white stripes, and the arm on the opposite side is completely red.

His face is painted, looking white with black around his eyes and mouth, like a panda, and there's a red and white cone on his head. His and Richie's eyes meet and he holds out what looks like a neon green balloon animal. Richie quickly looks away, not liking the fact that even though he does this, he still feels as though he's being stared at. He's never liked clowns. Never.

"That's just because you're scared of clowns," Georgie says, now chomping loudly at his cone.

"I'm starting to like you less and less," Richie says, but not unkindly.

"What's so scary about a clown?" Stan asks.

He's never liked that portrait of the woman in his dad's office, but that's different from a clown. The latter is supposed to be something nice and fun at the circus, a place for having fun and enjoying childhood.

"Not the clown," Richie says quietly. "The guy in the clown suit," he shrugs slightly. "You don't know what kind of creepy asshole is pretending to be friendly under that suit. Look at Pennywise. He's got Georgie wrapped around his finger, doesn't he?" he can't help but grin again, Eddie already not liking the look on his face, "Eddie too. Just in a way Georgie doesn't understand."

Eddie scowls, his fist clenching around his ice cream and snapping the cone, the dessert melting onto his hand.

"I swear to God --"

"Whatever," Richie says, brushing himself off. "I'm going to play Street Fighter tomorrow," he says. "Let me know if you find my creepy mini-me."

He then bikes away, Eddie and Stan follow not long after.

"Later guys," Mike says, peddling away with his doll in his basket.

That leaves Bill, Georgie, Ben, and Beverly at the bench.

"You think you guys will find your dolls?" Ben asks quietly.

He's been debating on whether or not he should go back to the Barrens to see if Henry and Patrick simply left his doll out there, destroyed or not, and maybe if he was lucky, he could find it on the same hill that he rolled down, assuming they had accidentally dropped it and didn't pick it up. Mostly, he's trying to think of a way to spend some time with Beverly without looking like a total dork, even if she thought he was a _cute_ one. And _her_ dork.

"I don't know," Bill says quietly. "They just... p-p-pop up r-r-randomly, don't they?"

"Mostly, yeah," Ben says, smiling slightly. "Any of you.. wanna come with me to the Barrens? To look for mine?"

Beverly smiles, almost grinning, at the hopeful look on his face.

"Beverly does," Georgie says, licking his hand for the ice cream that dropped onto it.

Bill sighs as the sun starts to set.

"We should probably get home," Bill says, though it's clear by the depressive tone of his voice and the look in his eyes that he doesn't really want to, "before our dad misses us. C'mon, Georgie."

Bill bikes home, Georgie on the back of his bike and clinging onto Bill's shirt, the boy giving Ben and Beverly a happy wave goodbye that the both of them return.

"You really think it'll be in the Barrens?" Beverly asks.

"I have no idea," Ben says honestly. "Probably not. I don't know if Henry or Patrick dropped it or wrecked it."

"Can't hurt to look," Beverly says, smiling.

That is how the next day, the two of them are walking together in the Barrens. It isn't so much as a scavenger hunt for Ben's doll as it is just a moment to talk to each other. Ben knows that the chances his doll is gone are higher than actually finding it, and even if it wasn't, having eight people looking instead of only two had better odds, but he likes the time with Beverly, even if he can't keep a conversation with a girl to save his life.

"So... are you into... stuff?"

She gives out a snort of laughter. Not mockingly so, simply entertained.

"Yeah, stuff," she says, smiling. "How about you? Seems like you'd make a pretty good poet or architect."

"Ah, well," Ben says shyly, smiling. "That's just basic stuff, really. The clubhouse."

"Yeah, but how many dorks can stumble across a hole in the ground and turn it into something that cool?" Beverly asks.

Ben's smile grows. Though he sighs as he scratches the spot on his stomach. It's been itching something awful since Eddie applied the ointment and gauze to it. And he knows he has to get more antibiotic ointment or Eddie will kill him before a potential infection (or Henry) does.

"We're not going to find it," Ben says quietly. "Wanna come with me to the pharmacy? I've got to get more medicine for..." he gestures to his stomach.

Beverly shrugs, though her smile dims.

"Only if you're cool with me waiting outside," she says.

She frowns in confusion at the hurt look on his face. Her eyes widen as she realizes what that came across as.

"Oh, no, no, no, that's not what I meant!" she says quickly, apologetically. "No, no, it's not about not being seen with you... Gretta's dad works at that pharmacy. Mr. Keene? She's always hanging out there when she's not... terrorizing some poor girl."

"Oh," Ben says, relieved. He honestly thought for a moment she meant she didn't want to be seen with _him_. He'd honestly thought that. "Who cares? Just because Gretta's dad works at the pharmacy doesn't mean _you_ can't go there. And if she makes a scene, isn't she the..." he clears his throat. He's not much of a cussing sort. "... the bad one?"

"Girls don't work that way," Beverly says. "It's always the slut's fault. _Always_."

"I don't get it," Ben says, genuinely confused.

Beverly sighs. She's not sure _why_ she's explaining it to him, but figures she might as well.

"Okay, look at it like this," she says as they continue walking together, passing by the stream. "Say there's this girl, maybe she's _actually_..." she clears her throat, "... promiscuous..." she slightly shakes her head. "... but is an adult, an actual adult... and, these other girls, they like to pick on her because of it. Then they are stupid enough to send their boyfriends or even their guy friends, if they have any, to go and screw with her and make ti worse. Now, imagine the guy actually does... _that_ with the girl they're bullying. He cheats on his girlfriend even though his girlfriend was the one who pushed him into it. And yet, because the bullied girl chose to sleep with him, it's _her_ fault. It's the _slut's_ fault," she says, shaking her head again. "Not the fault of the guy who got an easy lay just because he _could_."

Ben's mouth is open, a weird look on his face. One similar to disgust, maybe even disturbed, but it isn't at all directed at Beverly. The look is that of a person who doesn't understand what has just been said, and finds the entire situation _weird_.

"I don't get it," he repeats. "Girls are complicated... not, not you specifically, but that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. The bully told him to go do _stuff_... and then gets mad at the girl for probably thinking they weren't together anymore and that guy was free?"

"Pretty much," Beverly says.

"That's dumb," Ben says, positive he would never understand girls.

"Yeah," Beverly says, nodding and smiling. "Yeah, it is."

They pass by the very same entrance into the sewer that Ben passed when running from Henry and his goons. Ben, sensing Beverly was a little upset by their conversation, slightly nudges her with his arm, smiling.

She smiles right back and lightly shoves him back. Grinning, he lightly shoves her.

"Hey!"

She shoves him, a little harder, but she's still grinning. He shoves her again, seeing the playful grin on her face even though she stumbled into the bushes, and starts running, laughing. She giggles as she chases after him.

At the pharmacy, Ben is trying his hardest not to itch at the gauze as he stares between the antibiotic ointments. He knows he needs one of them, not pills, but this is Eddie's forte, not his. Eddie even made a comment about how cheaper didn't mean better. Beverly is also staring, also not knowing which one to grab.

"I have no idea," she says truthfully.

"Eenie meenie," Ben says, pointing at one and then the other. Beverly grins. "minie mo... to which one of you... would Eddie go...?"

She laughs as she walks down the aisle, staring at the different medicines. Ben sighs and grabs the cheaper one anyway. He's about to turn and follow Beverly to the counter, where she's trying on sunglasses, but something else catches his eye and he smiles. He didn't even know this pharmacy had a container full of toys.

He's about to call out to her, maybe even suggest they search the container for a circus doll together, but then figures that would be a dumb idea if Gretta is in the pharmacy. He somewhat gets what Beverly said about the way girls bully other girls, with back-stabbing words behind their back instead of fists, unless that part came later, she never said, but doesn't at the same time. He isn't sure which is worse. Having rumors spread about you and always being the bad guy in the situation, or getting punched in the face and then cut open or just beat up on a regular basis. He guesses both situations suck equally as he approaches the container full of toys.

He sees Cabbage Patch Dolls, Care Bears, Fluppy Dogs, Popples, and even a Teddy Ruxpin and a My Buddy that reminded Ben of the Good Guy doll from _Child's Play_ , so he avoided that one. He sees a couple of _She-Ra_ toys too, along with _He-Man_ , and a few others, plush toys and action figures. He figured he looked stupid, like a dork, rummaging through the toys, especially since he didn't have any money to pay for it, but couldn't help but wonder if there was a doll somewhere in here. It seemed like the sort of place to find one, unless someone else had gotten to it first, but it couldn't hurt to look, right? He moves aside the Snorks and a bunch of Happy Meal toys, one of Ronald McDonald, and then quickly yanks his hand back out, yelping in pain when he feels something sharp jab him in the hand. He shakes the pain away and peers back into the container, holding back the toys to look.

In it, he sees a doll and immediately smiles, almost grinning. It's a doll of a girl with short ginger hair that looks as though it was fluffed up after the yarn was straightened, wearing the same pretty green dress as Beverly had been wearing that day at the quarry, and was currently wearing. It even had a necklace with a key on it, but instead of Beverly's house key, the key was longer, looked much older, and the end resembled a black button just like the eyes on the doll's face, the string of the necklace was even looped through all four holes of the button end. He quickly grabs it and then jumps when he hears a popping sound right next to his ear. Either a Pop-It, which wouldn't make much sense inside of a pharmacy, or someone chewing gum.

He turns to see a girl with blonde hair, up in a ponytail, and blue eyes standing right next to him, her elbow propped up against one of the shelves. She's staring at him, chewing her gum rather obnoxiously. She has makeup on her face, pink lipstick and mascara, the latter making her eyes pop and accenting the blue of them, and Ben thinks that it would be a nice touch, if she wasn't staring at him like he was a piece of gum on the bottom of her shoe.

"Um... hi?" he says nervously.

"Digging for toys?" she asks, her voice rather snotty.

It would be almost humorous or astounding that she didn't even realize the container full of toys wasn't put there by Mr. Keene. That it didn't even belong in the pharmacy in the first place.

"Oh, um, yeah," he says, still nervous.

He honestly thinks that this is the first time he has ever actually interacted with Gretta Keene, and already he doesn't like the sinking feeling he's getting. Or the dirty, judgmental look she's clearly giving him.

She continues chewing her gum, purposefully smacking her lips as she does. She blows a bubble and it pops and then she resumes chewing.

"You gonna pay for that or just keep standing there?" she asks rudely.

"Oh, um..." Ben clears his throat. "It's one of those..." he points at the doll in her hand that resembles herself, though it looks less mean than she does. "So... it's technically not the pharmacy's... is it?"

"Guess not," Gretta says, shrugging. "You've gotta pay for the medicine though."

Her eyes drift away from Ben and then she grins nastily. The sinking feeling in his stomach grows as the dolls, Gretta's and the one in Ben's hand, scowl.

"See her, new kid?" she says, nodding towards Beverly, who is trying on a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses now. "You know who she is, don't you?" she doesn't wait for Ben to respond before she starts talking again, "That's Beaver-ly Marsh. She's the town slut."

Ben hides the Beverly doll behind his back.

"Her name is Beverly," Ben says. Gretta looks back at him, a penciled eyebrow rising on her forehead. "Not... the other thing..."

He swallows nervously as she blows another bubble and pops it. The boy in him feels the need to defend Beverly, kind of like Georgie did at Henry and kind of like Ben did, both boys having thrown rocks to defend Beverly's honor, but that was boys against boys. Ben has no idea if he could accidentally make matters worse by defending Beverly to another girl.

"What, she get to you, too?" she asks, grinning all the more nastily. "Never knew she'd sink so low as to fuck the fat kid."

"That's not true," Ben says.

He doesn't even care about the jab at him and his chubbiness.

"Sure it is," Gretta says. "Why else would you be hiding her doll from me? I'm surprised that the ringmaster of the circus would even make her one. I woudl've thought they'd have a No-Slut policy..." her nasty grin widens. "... unless, of course, she's going to fuck him for entry or... already did."

"That's not true, Gretta," Ben says. "None of that's true."

"Keep telling yourself that, new kid," Gretta says. "I've seen you before, you know," she says, carelessly pointing her index finger at him. "Hanging out with all the other losers and Denbrough's kid brother. Homeschool now too. You all have fun in the woods together?"

Ben frowns. Even if Beverly was... what Gretta was implying, what business of it was hers? Besides, the fact that she added Georgie into it was disgusting.

"No, that's disgusting," he says.

"Fucking Beaver-ly? Obviously," Gretta says, still grinning.

Ben isn't about to say something just as nasty back, but he can't help but say what he thinks.

"Jealousy is an ugly thing, Gretta," he says quietly. "And so is bullying someone just because Henry made up a lie to make himself look cooler. Kind of sad that a kid knows better than you do."

She stops chewing her gum. She resumes after a moment, though much more slowly, clearly curious to hear what Ben has to say and already conjuring something mean judging by the disdainful look on her face.

"You're just jealous of Beverly, since you must like Henry and honestly think something like that is true. You're just jealous that unlike you, she doesn't have to resort to bullying someone else to make herself feel better," Ben says. But he is not without kindness. "It doesn't have to be like that, Gretta. She's not... a slut. And I'm sure... you could be a nice person, too. It isn't very nice... what you say about her. It's not funny. It's not _cool_."

Gretta scoffs.

She stops chewing her gum and with both hands, shoves Ben away from her, nearly knocking him down. Unfortunately, he does get knocked into the container full of toys, which does fall to the floor, all of the toys spilling out.

"Guess freaks of a feather flock together," Gretta says. "Or in your case, fuck each other."

"Leave him alone, Gretta."

Ben sighs as Beverly approaches. He's grateful that she helps him up, but the sneer on Gretta's face bothers him.

"Why? Just trying to warn him about all the diseases he might get," Gretta says cruelly. "I am surprised as to why Kaspbrak would want anything to do with you, considering he's against all dirty things."

Beverly doesn't respond in a verbal way, instead she looks to the ground, a sad, ashamed look in her eyes. She's disheartened because Gretta is acting this way at all, and it's worse because it's in front of Ben, who Beverly can see will become one of Gretta's targets, too, and ashamed because Ben is watching.

"Don't talk to her like that," Ben says.

"Whatcha gonna do about it?" Gretta asks, shoving him with both hands again.

"Leave him alone," Beverly says, trying not to scowl and cry at the same time.

"Or else what?" Gretta asks, folding her arms over her chest.

"You can pick on me all you want, Gretta," Beverly says, pressing her lips together into a thin line. "But you leave him alone?"

"Or else what?" Gretta repeats, her eyes widening in faux, mocking horror. "Gonna run to your janitor daddy? Cry about it? I can talk to your fat loser of a pal, just as you can fuck him."

"No, you can't."

Ben watches as Gretta shoves Beverly this time. She still doesn't react. She still doesn't respond.

"You'd think the rumors would've run your skanky ass out of this town, but I guess trash doesn't get very far, does it?" Gretta asks. "Listen, Fat Boy, you're going to learn who the right kind of people are one way or another."

"I already know who the right kind of people are," Ben says, his eyes on Beverly.

"Don't come crawling back when you need penicillin, then, Fat Boy --"

Ben watches, shocked, as Beverly suddenly reels her arm back, her hand clenched into a white-knuckled fist already, and slugs Gretta right in the mouth, sending the blonde girl flying back into a shelf stocked with medical supplies, which, almost comically, falls over as well and right into the next shelf and like dominoes, they topple, sending medical supplies and other items all over the floor.

The truth of the matter was, Beverly had no intention of making a scene at the pharmacy. The truth was, she didn't care that much about Gretta insulting her. It just stung more that she was doing it in front of Ben, but in reality, she was mostly angry at Gretta for calling Ben fat. He was one of the sweetest boys she had ever met, and the only reason she was really doing anything now, it seemed, was to provoke Beverly. It worked. Ben didn't deserve the bullying he already got from Henry. He certainly didn't deserve it from Gretta either.

"Don't call him fat!"

"You fucking bitch!"

"The hell is going on out there?!"

Beverly doesn't wait for Mr. Keene to come storming out of the back of the pharmacy to figure out what all the commotion was about before she's grabbing Ben's wrist and running towards the door, both of them trying their hardest not to step on any of the supplies. Ben stumbles, feeling faintly guilty as they both run out of the store. Not because of what happened to Gretta, but because he didn't pay for the ointment.

Mr. Keene storms out and stares with shock at the mess all over the floor. He looks to the door, seeing the retreating backs of a boy and a girl, and then sees Gretta lying on the floor, holding the side of her face with one hand and a pissed off expression on her face. The father in him would have consoled his daughter, even though she had started it. However, his eyes flash yellow instead, not that Gretta notices.

"Don't act like you didn't start it," he says, much to her surprise. And her upset.

Outside, Ben and Beverly are running through the street, Beverly still holding Ben's wrist as they narrowly avoid passing cars, the drivers honking furiously at them, screaming "Stupid kids!" and bikers who also yell at them.

"What about the --" Ben starts, holding up the ointment, as he gasps for air.

"Forget it!"

They keep running even as Gretta runs out of the pharmacy, her chin already starting to bruise and swell. Her eyes narrow at the retreating forms of Fat Boy and Beaver-ly. She grits her teeth, clenching her fists, and repeatedly stamps her foot like a child throwing a temper tantrum. She starts screaming unhappily, furiously, and beats her fists against her legs. Nobody seems to notice this, however, except Mr. Keene, his eyes still yellow, and Gretta's doll. Both Mr. Keene and the doll roll their eyes, clearly unimpressed.

It feels like hours of running, though both know they would have collapsed sooner than that, as they finally stop in the Barrens, at the entrance to the clubhouse. Ben's belly feels sore and his chest aches. He's not made for running. He collapses onto the ground, falling on his back as his chest heaves and his lungs burn and his stomach and feet throb, his legs twitching in pain. Beverly is more graceful. She instead lies on the ground, on her side, right next to him.

"I didn't pay for the ointment," Ben says quietly.

"Neither did Eddie," Beverly says, rolling onto her back and throwing her arm over her eyes.

The silence is awkward, though an obnoxious bird chirps happily as equally obnoxious bees buzz merrily.

Ben looks over at Beverly. Her chest is moving, but not just because she's breathing. It isn't slowly rising up and down as she tries to catch her breath, instead her chest is moving up and down in jerky movements that only crying can cause, especially when you're trying to hold it in. He then understands why she has her arm over her face.

"Is it always like that?" Ben asks quietly, unsure if he should but he thinks Beverly needs a friend right now.

"Yeah," she says quietly, sniffling.

She never really expected Gretta to make a scene like that in the pharmacy, even though technically speaking Beverly was the one that caused the shelves to get knocked over. In her defense, Gretta had pushed first. Not that any responsible adults actually saw that. One of the birds in the air, its feathers white as snow, its eyes the same yellow as Mr. Keene's, looks offended and flies away in a huffy manner.

Ben looks away, unsure of what he can say that would make what just happened any bit of better. He felt bad for her, because she was one of the nicest girls he'd ever met. The only one in Derry that eve gave him the time of day, and not to insult him or insult somebody else. She had even _defended_ him... The same white bird, though still offended, flutters down onto a tree branch, right above his head, and stares down at him. He meets its eyes, which have changed color, from an ominous sort of yellow to a happy shade of blue and sees that its aiming its beak at the doll in his hand.

"You know..." Ben says quietly, his mind working quickly. "Georgie... he's not the only one that knows the rumors are..." he swallows. He doesn't often swear, but maybe it'll make her laugh... he likes it when she laughs... "shit..."

Beverly raises an eyebrow under her arm and turns her head towards him, though she keeps her arm over her eyes. Ben can still see the frown on her pink lips, though, and the redness of her nose that almost always comes from crying. Hope flickers in his heart like a match being struck and a flame being made when he sees her lips twitching into a faint smile at him cussing.

He puts the doll in her other hand and Beverly frowns again. She moves her arm to stare at it. It's wearing the same green dress she is, but its hair is short, just like hers, even though the circus had apparently come to Derry before she'd cut her hair... There's even a necklace with a key on it, but instead of a normal key, it looks older, longer, and at the end of it is a circle with four holes in it that resemble the black button eyes on the doll's face.

"Georgie did say..." Ben says nervously, but not hesitantly. "Pennywise was the one that told him... the rumors aren't true," he says as she holds the doll up, staring at it with a smile. A watery one, but a smile nonetheless.

Beverly lets out a small, disbelieving chuckle. She honestly hadn't expected to get a doll at all. She had seen Gretta and all of her friends, Betty Ripsom and a few others, with their dolls, and after that last day of school, those comments that Gretta had made about the ringmaster... she hadn't expected this. Not only that, but the hair was short, just like hers. She hadn't cut it until after Gretta made those comments. After the last day of school. Did that mean that whoever was running the circus had just made it?

"Guess he wanted you at his circus after all," Ben says, smiling at the happy look on her face.

"Where'd you find it?" she asks.

"Oh, it was in that container full of toys," Ben says. "You know, the one with the My Buddy dolls... She-Ra... a few others... I thought it would be in there... seemed like the place to find one... I jabbed my hand on the key."

Beverly's lips quiver, but she's still smiling. Her eyes are pink and glassy, from crying because of Gretta, but now they were happy tears. Her smile turns into a grin.

"The dolls see everything, the balloons will show you the way, but only the key opens the door," she says, remembering Georgie's riddle. She had even been the one to suggest the key led to a big carnival prize...

"Georgie's riddle?" Ben asks.

"Yeah," Beverly says, staring up at the doll with a grin as the key dangles inches above her nose. The doll stares right back, smiling.

It even has dimples and freckles, just like her.

She gives a laugh when she realizes that this doll, unlike the dolls of the other girls in Derry, has actual lips instead of a thin line for a smile. Whoever made the doll clearly took the effort to stitch in an actual pair of lips and even made them the same shade of pink as her favorite lipstick. She holds the doll to her chest, feeling the key sliding down her side.

"Thanks, Ben," she says quietly.

The white bird rolls its blue eyes.

"Any time," Ben says, still smiling.

The bird shakes its head, almost disbelieving, as it flies away. Its work is done.

"You think that... maybe... we could..." Ben starts but then he frowns. He still never found his. Beverly turns towards him, understanding.

"If Beaver-ly Marsh," she says, smiling, "the Town Slut of Derry, can get a doll, Ben from soc can definitely get a new one."

He smiles. She grins as she sits up. She's about to stand and debate on where they should go next, but something catches her eye. The clubhouse door. It's open. She's certain she ran over it when they were fleeing from Gretta, which means it was closed... her lips twitch as she realizes there's a red balloon tied to one of the boards and her grin grows as she peers into the entrance. She stares and it stares right back, its button eyes shining and even shimmering under the sunlight.

She gets up, staring at her doll. She wonders if that is some sort of poetry, a cheesy love kind, that her doll would be found by Ben and his would be found by her. Second time or not. It's wearing blue jeans and the same shirt he had been wearing that day she helped Bill, Eddie, and Stan steal the supplies from Mr. Keene's pharmacy. She climbs down the ladder, mindful not to step on the doll when she reaches the bottom, and picks it up.

"Hey, Ben from soc," she calls up.

Ben gets up, grimacing in pain. He's gonna be sore tomorrow, he knows, as his heart still hammers in his chest (he's never running like that again if he can avoid it), and peers into the clubhouse. He blinks, surprised, and then grins when he sees his doll, the same clothes as before, the very same ones he has at home and was wearing that day Henry and his goons cornered him, that are in the laundry at his house, on the doll's body. Its button eyes gleam and shine, just like the button eyes on Beverly's doll, but neither shine as much as Beverly's blue eyes. Beverly grins cheekily. Ben's cheeks turn warm as butterflies tickle his belly even as he itches the wound, the birds chirping delightedly and the bees buzzing merrily.

He swallows, suddenly nervous again.

"So... when the circus officially opens...?" he trails off, nervous.

Both dolls smirk with amusement as the birds twitter almost mockingly, but not unkindly, and the bees buzz in a dorky manner, also mockingly, but not unkindly, as Beverly's grin widens.

"It's a date, new kid."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Chapter nine is coming soon!  
> \- Richie's big thing will be coming but will be altered ;) But I have no idea what I'm going to do for Bill yet lol  
> \- Let me know how this chapter was in the comments below!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Richie's big moment. He's kind of a weenie in this chapter but he gets over it  
> \- Warning for homophobic language... again.  
> \- Warning for dorks.  
> \- And Eddie's refusal to use the actual name lol  
> \- Obviously the timeline is changed, I'm pretty sure that scene from Two happened AFTER the fight and the Losers split but I couldn't think of any other way for Richie to get his moment and I thought this chapter was sweet and oh my god I hate claw machines lol  
> \- Probably going to add "Dorks in Love" as a tag. They're all a bunch of dorks. But their our dorks  
> \- Let me know how this chapter was in the comments below!  
> 

Richie and Eddie are at the arcade. They're playing _Street Fighter_ , one boy happy and the other boy annoyed. One boy is winning the game, while the other boy is getting his ass kicked. Repeatedly.

"Hold still!" Eddie snaps, unable to stop himself from rapidly button-mashing.

"Yeah, I'm totally going to hold still while I let you beat me," Richie says, grinning a shit-eating grin. "I bet I could kick your ass even if I was holding still."

"Why not try it then?" Eddie says angrily, still button-mashing and still confusing kicks with punches and ducks with jumps.

Video games have never been his forte. Unlike Richie, who would probably spent the entire summer, day and night, in the arcade if he could.

"Nice try, Eddie Bear," Richie says, laughing as Eddie's scowl deepens and Ryu beats Ken.

Again.

"Oh, screw you!"

"Maybe later!"

"Oh, you mother --"

Eddie groans, barely resisting the urge to smack the game, or maybe Richie, as the other boy wins yet again.

"Good game, another?" Richie asks, still grinning.

Even more fun than playing _Street Fighter_ , and kicking Eddie's ass at it, Richie thinks, is watching Eddie get gradually more and more annoyed until he starts button-mashing and then he gets even more annoyed. Teasing Eddie is definitely one of Richie's favorite pass times, and doing it while playing _Street Fighter_ , the best game ever (in Richie's opinion), makes it even better.

"No, thank you. My stress levels are already dangerously high," Eddie says unhappily, wanting badly to punch that smug look off Richie's face. "I'm going to play a game less infuriating."

"Sure, why don't you try out the claw machine? Maybe you could win Georgie that turtle," Richie says, his grin growing as he flips a token in his hand. "That'll really get your blood pumping."

Eddie groans.

"Why does it always have to be _Street Fighter_?" he asks.

"Because _Street Fighter_ is the best game ever, arcade or video," Richie says.

Eddie shakes his head as Richie toss the token at him.

"You gonna win him that turtle?"

"Yeah..." Eddie says, grumbling under his breath.

Richie grins, a comment on his mind, but Eddie points an accusing finger at him.

"Don't even think about ruining turtles for me."

Richie bites his lower lip, suppressing his snort of laughter, as he watches Eddie head towards the claw machine. He knows Eddie his trying his hardest not to start stomping like a kid throwing a tantrum. Stamp his foot in his upset.

"This spot open?"

Richie turns away from Eddie, seeing a boy with blonde and curly hair and blue eyes standing by the game, quickly taking Eddie's vacated spot. Richie's grin manages to stretch even further, almost ear to ear.

"Sure is," Richie says.

A new competitor. Worthy or unworthy? He wonders.

"Name's Connor," the boy says, pulling a token out of his pocket.

"Richie."

Connor, in Richie's mind, seems pretty cool. They have at seven straight rounds, Richie winning every single one, and Connor smiling, grinning, and even laughing alongside him, taking it like a champ. Before today, Richie had yet to meet someone who loves _Street Fighter_ as much as him and complains less than Eddie and Stan, mostly Eddie, about losing every single time. Eddie comes back after round ten, looking annoyed and uncomfortable.

Ten times he has tried to get that same turtle from the claw machine, and ten times the damn thing fell out of the claws just before it could hover just far enough over the exit so that the toy would fall over the side so that Eddie could get it. Eddie was sure he'd have better luck trying for the creepy white spider than he would the turtle, but that isn't why he's uncomfortable and wants to leave.

"C'mon, Rich, we gotta go," Eddie says quickly, ignoring the boy next to Richie.

Pointedly.

He's cute, Eddie will give him that (not as cute as Richie) and clearly he likes the same game Richie does, considering he's been standing next to Richie for about an hour, but the kid is giving Eddie a bad vibe that he doesn't like. The blonde hair and the blue eyes are a definite plus, as they are a red flag, just for a reason Eddie doesn't understand quite yet. Either way, he does not like the guy. And totally _not_ because he's been taking up Richie's attention.

"Why?" Richie asks, "I'm kicking this guy's ass and he complains less than you and Stan combined."

Richie isn't even looking at the screen, but he's still executing perfect hits and dodges. He's still winning.

"You mother --" Connor groans, yet he is still grinning while trying his hardest not to start button-mashing.

Eddie swallows, his discomfort showing. And growing. Immensely.

"I have to go to the bathroom," he says quickly, quietly.

Connor snorts, looking away from the game to stare at Eddie. Whether it's out of confusion or curiosity, Eddie isn't sure, but he's positive the boy is mocking him judging by the dumb smile on his face.

"So just go," Richie says, "not every bathroom is going to give you gonorrhea."

Eddie bites his lip, annoyed. He doesn't like Richie's insensitivity or the dumb, clearly amused grin on the blonde kid's face.

"Have you ever heard of --?"

"A staph infection, gonorrhea as previously mentioned, crabs, AIDS, hepatitis A and C, tetanus, mold spores, poison ivy, grey water," Richie lists off the diseases and dirty things he remembers Eddie mentioning before and complaining about, and that's just the shortened version. "I've heard them all, dude. Either just put toilet paper on the toilet seat or man up or just go home. I'm winning."

Eddie frowns. A strange stingy feeling like needle pricks (a feeling he's unfortunately familiar with) poking at his insides. At his chest.

So Richie would rather play a dumb arcade game with some dumb kid than walk Eddie home when this was a serious matter? Public bathrooms are _disgusting_. No ifs or buts about it. Yet Richie doesn't seem to care about Eddie's situation. And that was kind of embarrassing, having Richie blatantly tell some stranger kid about Eddie's phobia. So _nonchalantly_.

Eddie bites his lower lip again, trying to ignore the fact that the stingy feeling reaches his eyes. It worsens when Richie turns away, not even noticing.

"Oh, sure," Eddie says unhappily, his mouth hurting as he tried to hold back his tears and tries not to start sniffling. "Because playing a stupid arcade game is definitely the way to spend a summer."

Richie doesn't even seem to realize, or maybe he just doesn't even care, that he has actually hurt Eddie's feelings. The other kid notices though, still sending Eddie a dumb grin that he doesn't like and definitely doesn't appreciate.

"Beats spending it inside the bathroom at home, your mom handing you sterilized toilet paper," Richie retorts and the boy laughs.

"Oh, screw you!" Eddie snaps, feeling _hurt_.

He thinks that now he understands how Georgie felt in getting left outside with Richie, twice, but mostly about Beverly's bathroom. Eddie still shudders to think about that. The point is, he now knows how it feels to be left out, almost forgotten, discarded like an unwanted thing.

He knows he's probably just being dramatic, but he doesn't care. Richie would rather play with some dumb kid he's just met today, because Eddie is pretty sure he has never seen this kid in Derry before, than have the decency to walk Eddie home when it was bordering a medical emergency.

Dramatic. He knows, but true.

"Here."

Richie grabs one of Connor's tokens off the machine.

"Go try the claw machine again and once I kick his ass, I'll walk you home," Richie says, flipping the coin at Eddie with his thumb. Eddie catches it, still feeling hurt. "Or, can you be a man and put some toilet paper on the seat?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Eddie says, sniffling.

He would honestly rather it be from a summer cold than the fact that Richie of all people had just hurt his feelings.

"You're an asshole," he says, walking away and towards the bathroom.

"What's up his ass?" Connor asks, returning to the game.

"His mom has him convinced that he's got every disease in the book or he'll end up getting every disease in the book just by using a public restroom," Richie says, tapping the kick button.

Connor snorts with laughter.

"What a fucking loser," he says, shaking his head and still grinning.

Richie blinks, a full minute passing before he registers what Connor has just said. That was uncalled for, he thinks.

"Hey, c'mon," Richie says, "he's my friend."

It hits him then that he kind of acted like a dick to Eddie back there, but he didn't call Eddie an outright loser. Eddie is still his friend. Besides, both him and Eddie get enough of Bowers calling them losers along with that other hurtful word enough as it is.

"You're friends with a guy who needs to be walked home just to use the bathroom?" Connor grins, still grinning the kind of grin that an asshole with a lot of dirty things to say would have. The same grin Henry Bowers, Belch Huggins, and Vic Criss have had multiple times before. Bowers especially. "Who wears a fucking fanny pack?"

Richie frowns at that. Connor, not noticing, starts to win as Richie doesn't pay attention to the game.

So what if Eddie prefers his bathroom at home over a dirty public one? Who cares if Eddie wears a fanny pack? With or without a clown sticking a doll in it? Richie teases him, yes, but that's all in good fun, and Eddie knows that, and it's because Eddie has the funniest reactions when he's annoyed and getting pissed off.

Richie shakes his head, shoving aside the nagging thoughts about Connor. Richie doesn't like him talking about Eddie that way, but Connor still seems pretty cool. In reality, Richie just doesn't want to be the one to kill the good mood. Yet Connor does remind him of somebody, but he has yet to realize just _who_ exactly that is.

"Yeah, he's my friend."

He then goes back to his game, grinning as he starts to win and Connor swears loudly.

"Come on, you. Come on," he says, tapping the buttons in perfect rhythm, not taking any damage while kicking his opponent in the face.

He gives Connor a glance, smiling. He actually is pretty cool, aside from the earlier comments about Eddie. It is pretty hard to find someone willing to play twenty straight rounds of _Street Fighter_ with him, and not complain about Richie winning even once. Eddie certainly doesn't. Stan either. Eddie often complains the entire time and is more than adamant that Richie somehow cheats to win. Richie looks back at the game.

"Ken, you little bitch..."

"Yes!" Richie exclaims happily, winning _again_.

"You're fucking good," Connor says, grinning.

They clap their hands together as the electronic voice says "Game Over", brushing their fingers together like a cool secret handshake. Meanwhile, Eddie is still fighting with the claw machine, having given up on going home even though Richie has ignored him for about two hours now. He refuses to admit that Richie's idea with the toilet paper was not only good, but actually helpful, even though he's pretty sure that the toilet paper itself was contaminated.

"C'mon, c'mon, dammit," Eddie mutters, grumbling, moving the joystick quickly without disrupting it but still managing to hit the button on accident.

 _Again_.

He groans, beyond frustrated and maybe even still upset, when the stupid machine drops the plush turtle he's been trying to win. He hasn't even bothered with the spider or even the Barn Owl. He glances over at the _Street Fighter_ game where Richie and Carlisle are still standing.

He's pretty sure they're done -- _finally_ \-- or at least Cody is, and Eddie couldn't be happier. He isn't still entirely sure as to _why_ , but he knows he doesn't like Corbin. He reminds Eddie of somebody, somebody Eddie knows but can't quite put his finger on. Either way, the guy rubs him the wrong way, and definitely not in the way Richie would think if Eddie made the mistake of using that phrase in front of him.

And maybe, just maybe, he is also jealous of how much fun Richie has been having with him. For two hours straight.

Eddie gets easily annoyed, that's a fact, mostly because Richie is so good at an arcade game and Eddie isn't. Stan would back him up on this, but that is besides the point. Carl is clearly the better sport, for that at least, but Eddie still doesn't like the guy. Namely because this was supposed to be his and Richie's day. Not Conrad-or-whatever-the-fuck-his-name-is and Richie's day.

Eddie literally spent two hours in a foul-smelling, cheese-ridden, kid infested arcade all day, and probably the rest of the day, if he doesn't go home soon and Richie has his way, just to be ignored. That stung, more than _a lot_. Especially since going to the arcade was Richie's idea.

Eddie grumbles to himself as he grabs Cameron's token, thinking that at least Clark had made himself somewhat useful and he puts it into the machine. If he doesn't get the turtle this time, he's done and he's going home, totally not to pout about Richie snubbing him for some _cute_ kid.

His eyes sting again as he thinks that Richie probably wouldn't even notice if he left. He's about to reach for the joystick when he sees a toy on top of the turtle and the spider, next to the Barn Owl, a toy that definitely hadn't been there before Eddie had turned away from the machine to glower at Richie and the kid...

"Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me," Eddie hisses through gritted teeth, quickly looking around the arcade.

Nowhere does he see Pennywise or Robert or Bob the Dancing Clown in the arcade and he _refuses_ to believe that magic and mean unicorns, or any unicorns for that matter, actually exist. He figures that the logical and most likely explanation is that somehow, _Pennybobert_ , convinced the arcade owner to stick some of his dolls into the claw machine. It makes sense, Eddie thinks, but he is pretty fucking sure he did not see a little doll that looks exactly like Richie in the claw machine for the past two hours he's been standing here, minus the time he was in the bathroom and contemplating murder.

He grumbles under his breath, his mind made up. Georgie has LEGOs, he knows, so he can build himself a turtle or waste time at a claw machine himself.

Eddie watches as the claw hovers over the Richie doll, which even has square glasses stitched on the face. They're almost identical to Richie's actual glasses. It isn't wearing the same clothes that Richie currently is, but Eddie has been around Richie long enough to know that Richie has the exact same gray t-shirt and the same exact pair of black shorts that the doll does.

Eddie watches, his tongue sticking out, poking out from between his lips, his breath bated, as the claw grabs hold of the Richie doll's head. He grins triumphantly when the claw grabs hold of the arms, completely unaware of the fact that the claws aren't supposed to actually bend like actual fingers grabbing hold of something to grab hold of the toy, like an actual, thin fingered _hand_ making a grab for the toy, and it pulls the doll up.

He holds incredibly still, barely even moving, barely even breathing, as though one wrong step will ruin the whole thing, _again_ , as the doll is carried to the box.

"Haha, motherfucker!" he yells triumphantly, ignoring the annoyed looks he gets from the other kids, and he reaches into the slot to grab the doll.

_Suck it, Cory!_

He turns around, an incredibly smug grin on his face, and it immediately dies when he sees Richie holding up another token and clearly asking Clarence for another game. At first Eddie is annoyed, because isn't two hours of playing the same game enough? But then Eddie's grin returns, even more smug than before. He thinks Richie won't want Kevin's attention anymore when Eddie shows him the doll, even if Richie was afraid of clowns or the guys under the clown suit.

"Ah, well, I gotta go," Connor says, turning.

"Hey!" Richie says, holding up the token, unaware of Eddie's eyes on him.

Suddenly, for whatever dumb reason, Richie feels strangely nervous, jittery even, almost totally skittish, though he doesn't know why. He feels like a deer being spotted and then realizing its been spotted, or a squirrel about to cross the street and a car is coming. Almost as though being under a spotlight he definitely didn't want to be under. He becomes hesitant. Maybe even dorky.

"Um... How about we go again? Play some more, you know?" he asks just as Belch, Bowers, and Vic turn the corner, Belch telling someone off. "Only if you want to."

He sees the weird expression on Connor's face, as though the boy doesn't understand why Richie is asking him for another game. Richie gets that, since Connor did just say that he had to go... but he just wants one more round... with a kid he thinks is _cool_... maybe _cute_... that's not so wrong, is it?

Richie backs away slightly, his eyes widening with fear, when Bowers spots him. He feels like the deer meeting the eyes of the human driving the previously mentioned car while it's standing in the middle of the road, definitely about to get hit. Almost as though the hit and potential death is inevitable. Bowers even tilts his head, clearly curious at what's going on. Connor quickly turns at the now terrified look on Richie's face, spotting Bowers, and then quickly turns back to Richie.

He can see the fear in Connor's blue eyes and understands that he too is afraid of Bowers nad his gang, though he isn't entirely sure as to why Connor would be, since he's pretty sure this is the first time he's actually seen this kid in Derry.

Eddie watches, still standing in front of the claw machine, still holding the doll that's now frowning, Eddie unintentionally holding it to where its button eyes are looking directly at Richie and Connor. Mostly, Eddie is just surprised and even confused.

Why does Richie sound so nervous for asking some dumb kid for another round? Besides, what's really so great about Calvin?

"Dude, why are you being weird?" Connor asks.

Whether it is out of self-preservation or maybe just to be an asshole, Richie has no idea, but his stomach seems to explode under his skin, like an unhealthy appendix (Eddie having told him a disturbing story once before), and then fall out of his body at Connor's next words. Especially with how _loudly_ he says them.

"I'm not your fucking boyfriend."

It would be almost comical with how the entire arcade seems to go quiet, if, of course, Eddie was somebody unobservant or oblivious and couldn't literally see and _smell_ and even _hear_ the rising tension. The Richie doll, despite its button eyes, is glaring at the curly-haired boy now.

"Whoa, I... I didn't..." Richie says, hesitating, as he lowers his hands and feels _hurt_.

He hadn't meant it like that. Did he really come off as that much of a dork or even a loser just by asking for another game? Did he really come across as what Connor was suggesting? All he wanted was another game with a kid that he thought was cool, who played so many rounds of his favorite game with him and didn't complain once, not to be publicly rejected and humiliated and... _called out_...

Just another game with a kid he thought was a cool dude. Was that really so wrong?

"What the fuck's going on here?" Bowers asks, storming up to stand next to Connor, flanked, as he always was, by Belch and Vic.

Richie's heart began to pound, his insides clenching painfully. Awfully. He wasn't sure which was more terrifying. A pummeling from Bowers and his gang, or getting subjected to the same kind of bullying as Beverly.

The rumors. The dirty whispers.

He swallowed.

The latter would come first, he knew, and _then_ Bowers would beat him. He knew this.

It is as sudden as a strike of lightning that Richie realizes that Bowers is standing beside Connor, rather than looming over him like he would any other kid in Derry. Any other kid he didn't know or wasn't friendly with or had some kind of relation to...

"You assholes didn't tell me your town is full of little fairies," Connor snaps at Bowers.

Eddie can see the fear and even the disgust in the blonde boy's eyes, just as Richie can, and both boys know that Connor is really just trying to protect himself from the scrutiny of potential rumors, and Bowers' fists... and then Eddie's own stomach seems to drop, his heart seemingly plummeting out of his body with it.

Connor looks just like Bowers. The same blonde hair and blue eyes. The same homophobic outlook on life. The same bad vibes.

"Richie fucking Tozier?" Bowers asks, looking surprised but mostly _disgusted_. Then angry. "What? You're trying to bone my little cousin?"

Eddie scowls, as does the Richie doll. He knows that is not at all what Richie wanted. The fact that Bowers even suggests it disgusts him. And he knows it's the homophobia talking above all. He knows Bowers is about to start yelling, probably to tell Richie to get lost, but Eddie steps in front of him, almost acting like a human shield.

"Trying to assign the blame to Richie?" he spits at Connor, who glares right back at him. Any empathy Eddie might've felt for the kid disappears just as quickly as it came. Not that that's saying much. "Scared of being caught by our asshole cousin?" he spits before glaring up at Bowers, acting braver than he actually felt. If he was honest, which he wasn't planning on being right now, he was scared fucking shitless. "That's not at all what Richie fucking wanted!"

"Bullshit, Kaspbrak!" Bowers screams at him but Eddie, for once other than the rock fight, holds his ground.

Richie watches, staring at Eddie, a new light shining in his eyes. It is almost as though he is truly seeing Eddie Kaspbrak for who he really is for the first time in his life, and he's more than grateful to have Eddie in his life.

"Bull- _true_!" Eddie snaps right back, seeing the growing fury in Bowers' eyes that screams danger. He does not yield, however. "Fucker can't just accept that Richie wanted another game? Always jumping to half-ass conclusions?" Eddie starts to shake, his own fury rising as a metaphorical dam seems to break in his mind, the flood inevitable. "Not every gay person wants to jump down someone's pants!" Eddie screams at Bowers, surprising the older boys. "Is that all you Bowers are good for? Spreading bullshit rumors behind people's backs?" he can't help but turn nasty then. "You're just mad because Beverly wouldn't have you even if you were the last two people on earth!"

There is a little bit of laughter from some of the other kids in the arcade, but the dirty glare Bowers and his goons give them silences them all. Nobody else jumps to Richie and Eddie's defense, not that either boy can blame them.

"And you two?" Connor spits right back, getting nastier. "Would Tozier fuck you if you were the last two people on earth?" he asks, his eyes falling on the Richie doll in Eddie's hand, which scowls right back at him. "Or in your dumb circus? You didn't tell me that the stars of that shit show were fucking faggots!"

Eddie is silent, stewing. He _refuses_ to let this homophobic prick have the last word. Richie has already been embarrassed, publicly, of course, and in the arcade, no less, his favorite place next to his own messy bedroom. Richie is Eddie's best friend, even if he was kind of a dick earlier, and Eddie will be damned if he is going to let a bunch of homophobic assholes run them out of the arcade.

"Better than fucking a jerk like you," Eddie says. Connor scowls all the more hideously at him, all previous cuteness entirely gone. "We're going to leave now, and not just because a homophobic douches ran us out. We're choosing to leave and if we come back, which we will, and you've got a problem with it, remember these sage words," Eddie says before sucking in a breath, "You can go fuck yourself!"

He grabs Richie's hand and pulls him towards the arcade exit.

"And for the record, I don't see any of you assholes with dolls!"

"Get the fuck out of here, faggots!" Bowers screams at them. "Fucking move!"

Eddie hates that word. He has always hated it. Ever since the very first time Bowers called him that, and he thought Patrick had been one to talk for calling Stan a flamer considering the nasty gesture he had made at him, Richie, Bill, and Stan on the last day of school, not that he had seen Patrick since then, but still... He has _had it_ with hearing that word.

He goes for broke, figuring he might as well go big or go home since Bowers is probably going to kill him later anyway, and takes a page out of Georgie's book. Well, two pages, technically speaking. His mind isn't even with his body, the latter acting on its own accord.

Or maybe it's just his passionate soul breaking free from the chains of bullying and homophobia.

Now, he would totally do it to Bowers, but Bowers was the one with the knife and this all started because of Connor.

He lets go of Richie's hand and runs right up to the blonde boy, kicking him. Not at all in the shin, as Georgie liked to do. Instead, where it _hurts_.

"You fucking _cocksucker_!"

Richie darts back after Eddie when Belch and Vic reach for him, fists raised, grabbing the dark-haired boy's wrist and both boys take off running to the door as Connor falls to his knees, holding his crotch, a nasty expression on his face that isn't at remorseful for what he has just done to Richie.

Eddie can see a couple of people behind Bowers giving him grins, some simply smiling, others giving him a thumbs up, boys and girls alike. One boy even blows him a kiss even as Eddie nearly falls face first into the door as he and Richie run out of the arcade.

"You're one to talk, you mullet-wearing asshole!" Richie shouts as they run out into the street, his words echoing in the arcade.

They both run as fast as their legs can carry them, unsure as to whether or not Bowers and his goons were chasing them but not exactly keen to find out, especially if the answer was yes. They don't stop running until they're in the park just in front of the lumberjack statue. Both boys pant, Eddie wheezing as they reach the bench. Eddie, not carrying much about the dirtiness at the moment, flops onto his back on the bench while Richie sits down.

"Never... let me... run... like that... again..." Eddie pants, his chest heaving as his lungs burn and his legs throb.

Richie laughs, but Eddie is surprised by how _watery_ it sounds. _Tearful_.

"I thought running was good for your health," Richie says.

Eddie watches with shock as the other boy lifts his glasses and wipes at his eyes.

"The fuck...?" Eddie's mouth falls open in surprise, "... are you... are you fucking _crying_?"

"Yes, I'm crying!" Richie snaps, "I was just embarrassed by Bowers and his asshole cousin and then saved by you, my Knight in Shining _Dumbass_."

Richie laughs a watery laugh once more as he pulls his glasses off. Already his eyes are pink and glassy, teary. Eddie can already see the tears running down Richie's cheeks. Something he has never seen before even when Richie hurt himself or when Bowers had beat them up. He doesn't like it. At all.

It is also beyond weird how he can be smiling and crying at the same time, especially since Eddie is pretty sure he signed their death warrants.

"The fuck are you crying for? We just owned a bunch of homophobic assholes," Eddie says, still beyond shocked.

" _You_. _You_ owned a bunch of homophobic assholes and killed us both," Richie says, grinning a watery, tearful grin. "Only Georgie can get away with kicking people in the shins or hitting them in the dick with a rock. Kicking someone in the dick literally guarantees death if you don't have a big brother to protect you! Especially if the person you kicked is Bowers' cousin!"

Eddie frowns, his lips still parted as he breathes heavily. He knows he will get pummeled later, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually, but he doesn't care. He made a statement. Took a stand. Defended Richie. He will never regret that.

He just doesn't like seeing Richie cry.

"Quit crying, I don't like it," Eddie says, touching the bottom of his shoe to Richie's cheek.

"Don't," Richie says snappily, shoving Eddie's shoe away. He isn't playful anymore. "I said 'don't'," he slaps Eddie's foot away, the other boy now grinning and trying not to laugh. "C'mon! Stop! You probably stepped in dog shit! Don't! Stop it! Knock it the fuck off! Eddie!"

Richie fights to shove Eddie's entire leg out of his face, the dark-haired boy laughing.

"I can see your vagina! I fucked your mom!"

"No, you didn't! Take that back!"

Richie throws both arms in the air, giving up. Eddie lowers his leg, but sets both onto Richie's legs, his calves touching Richie's thighs. Richie shakes his head, but, of course, he sets his arms down on Eddie's legs, secretly enjoying the closeness and appreciating the comfort Eddie is clearly trying to give him.

"I'm sorry..."

"The fuck for?" Eddie asks, shocked.

He's never seen Richie cry before and he's certainly never heard him _apologize_ before.

"For acting like a dick back there... when you had to... go home..."

"Oh..." Eddie blinks, still surprised, but then he shrugs. He blows a raspberry, Richie smiling slightly. "Water under the bridge."

"A kick in the dick," Richie says, grinning slightly.

A moment passes, almost completely silent except for the distant chatter of people going about their days. It's peaceful.

"We're going to die, aren't we?" Eddie asks quietly.

"You mean, 'Are we going to be brutally murdered by Bowers for kicking his little cousin in the dick and then calling Bowers a mullet-wearing asshole in front of all those kids at the arcade'?" Richie asks.

Eddie rolls his eyes.

" _Yes_."

"Well, that sucks," Eddie says, sighing. "That kid was a jackass. Why'd you get so girly, anyway?"

"Please, if you and I _were_ gay, _you'd_ be the girl," Richie retorts. Eddie can't help but roll his eyes again as Richie frowns. "I don't know... he just seemed... he seemed really cool... Not exactly bad on the eyes either..."

"He looked cute," Eddie says, somewhat agreeing. "Until you realize he looked like a shorter, curly-haired, slightly less psychotic Henry Bowers."

"Yeah," Richie says, grimacing. "But... he likes, well, _liked_ , we probably ruined it for him, _Street Fighter_. And... he complains less than you and Stan... mostly you."

"Ha, ha," Eddie grumbles, throwing his arm over his eyes to block out the sun.

"No, I realized..." Richie says, smiling slightly. "... that's the best part about playing a game with you. _Street Fighter_ especially. You know... you get so pissy, it's actually really funny."

"Yes, because inducing high stress levels is really funny," Eddie says, annoyed. Richie grins. "Hilarious. _Hysterical_."

"Only when it's you," Richie says, smiling. "Seeing you all hot and bothered, and _not_ in a sexual way, is pretty fucking funny," his grin returns as he pats Eddie's leg. "Nah, but you've definitely got something Connor doesn't."

"Paranoia?" Eddie asks, remembering Georgie's comment back in the alley.

"Well, that," Richie says, "but not what I was going to say," his grin grows. "Balls of steel. Like, probably literal balls of steel. So, if Bowers does come at us with his knife, maybe tries to string our balls up on a tree as an act of revenge for his cousin's dick, you'll definitely be safe."

Eddie does snort at that, trying his hardest not to smile.

"We're going to die," he mutters.

"Yeah," Richie says, agreeing, "but we will die gay, which does mean happy."

"Yeah. That too."

Richie's grin then turns childish.

"Want a kiss, Eddie?"

Eddie peeks at him from under his arm. His dark brown eyes, which fit Eddie's face so well, Richie thinks, are unimpressed, his lips turned downwards into a scowl.

He doesn't know whether or not Richie is just toying with him, but figures he probably is, trying to cover up what just happened in the arcade and the real reason he was crying. Eddie was Richie's friend. He wasn't going to turn away just because Richie really is into guys instead of girls and just trying to cover it up, but he wasn't going to have it be turned into a joke just so that Richie could hide from the truth.

"Don't even think about it."

"What if I'm already thinking it?"

"Don't fucking do it."

"I'm doing it."

"No, you're not -- hey, Richie --"

Eddie jumps when Richie tries to pull him close, leaning towards him, a dorky grin on his face. The dark-haired boy scrambles back, nearly falling on his bottom and his back onto the ground as Richie laughs.

"I'm serious, you! Quit it!"

Richie chases after him and even chases him around the bench, Eddie running to one side and Richie following multiple times and Richie even pretends like he's going to jump over the bench to get him. Eddie repeatedly tries to warn Richie, going so far as to threaten him with half-ass threats that he would never really follow through on, and Richie ignoring Eddie's warnings and continuing for that very reason.

The lumberjack watches the two of them running around like dorks in love and shakes its massive head, though its lips do turn upwards into an amused smile. The Richie doll is smiling the same amused smile as the lumberjack.

"Give me kisses, Eddie Bear!"

"I swear to God, Richie!"

Eddie can't help himself. He is going to have a serious talk with Richie, whether or not the other boy likes it, but he starts laughing. He ends up throwing the doll at Richie, hitting the other boy in the face and knocking his glasses off his ear.

Richie catches it before it falls to the ground, stopping in his tracks.

"The dick is this? I thought you were getting Georgie a turtle?" Richie asks, looking down at the doll and grimacing as he readjusts his glasses and sees what it is.

"Oh, well, I gave up while you were playing _Street Fighter_ with that asshole," Eddie says. He sighs. "I was about to try one more time for the turtle and go home if I didn't get it but then the doll just appeared in there. Of course, that'd be the toy I get. Not the turtle. Not the spider. Or even the Barn Owl."

Richie's eyes widen as his frown deepens. The doll smiles even more widely, not that Richie notices.

"It _appeared_ after you gave up on the turtle or are your eyes shittier than mine?" he asks.

He doesn't want to mention how creepy that sounds. He also doesn't want to admit that it feels like the dolls eyes are staring directly at him as though they're actually _looking_ _at him_ , and not just because he's looking at its little face that matches his own, even though that was already the implication of Georgie's dumb riddle.

"My eyes are perfectly fine, thank you very much," Eddie says, not snappily, but unimpressed. Not at Richie, however. "I think that fucking clown was in there, waiting to screw with me again."

Even though there's no possible, logical explanation as to how the clown would have gotten the doll into the machine without Eddie noticing as the doll had not been in there before Eddie turned away to glance at Richie and Connor.

"Probably," Richie says. "Well, Georgie will be happy to get this doll. Probably a lot happier than he would be to get a turtle."

"I thought that too," Eddie says.

Richie sighs. He supposes he'd rather go to the circus than be banned from the arcade by Bowers and his gang, even if the whole thing was still extremely creepy. He doesn't notice the doll's mouth stretching out into a wide grin, pink and white forming the mouth and the teeth even though that wasn't how the doll was originally stitched. Not that Richie or even Eddie know that.

"So," Richie says, grinning as he adjusts his glasses, "do I still get my kiss?"

His grin dims slightly at the look of annoyance he gets from Eddie. He swallows, nervous. An unpleasant tingly feeling envelopes his stomach and his arms and even his legs, his chest feeling like it was constricting. It's infinitely worse than the arcade. He would dare say shame was creeping like little spiders through his veins.

Had... had he _misread_...?"

"I mean... you know..."

Eddie points a finger at him, his dark eyes hardened as they narrow.

"Don't say shit like that, Richie, unless you're going to follow through."

Richie blinks. Twice. Thrice. A full minute passes before his brain comprehends what Eddie has just said. To _him_.

"W-w-wa-wait does that mean you'd actually --" he asks quickly, his heart beginning to race in his chest as butterflies of dorky boyhood flutter in his belly, tickling him as well as mocking him. "-- hey, where you going?"

Eddie turns away from Richie, though he does look back at the other boy, grinning.

"Doesn't feel so good, does it?" Eddie asks, laughing.

"Hey, you can't leave a man hanging!" Richie says, quickly walking after him. Eddie picks up his pace, almost running and Richie chases after him. "Hey! Don't run away when I'm talking to you! That's a tease! Fucking tease! Prude! _Cock_ tease!" he keeps chasing after Eddie, who is still laughing at him. Richie can't help but laugh along with him, childishly, boyishly. "Eddie!"

They walk together to the Kissing Bridge, holding hands. It isn't a mocking gesture of affection or even a boyish, childish tease because of what Connor had suggested. It actually feels kind of nice, even though Eddie is pretty sure Richie's hands are particularly dirty after touching that arcade game and the door to the arcade.

Richie's hands are warm, Eddie's are cold.

 _Cold hands, warm heart_ , Richie thinks, a boyish, dorky smile on his face.

"I feel bad for Ben," Eddie says, staring into the treeline behind the fence.

He can't even imagine getting carved up by Bowers for no earthly reason other than being chubby and for being the new kid in Derry and only surviving because he rolled down the hill and ran for his life. Getting carved was already so risky, because God and Henry only knew where that knife had been, and then rolling down a hill with a bunch of dirty leaves and nasty soil with an open wound, even more risky and just gross because God only knew how many people and even animals --

Eddie shuddered, Richie shaking his head and understanding why, as he shook those thoughts away. He didn't even want to think about how Ben had fallen into the grey water with an open wound...

"Dude probably won't be carving any names into this bridge," Richie says sympathetically.

"Except Beverly's," Eddie says.

"What?" Richie asks, confused.

Eddie scoffs at him.

"You can't tell that Ben has been giving her the love-eyes since the day we met him?" Eddie asks. "That the postcard was obviously for her?"

"I don't pay attention to other people's love lives," Richie retorts. "I'm not a middle-aged woman or Gretta Keene."

"Uh huh," Eddie says as they sit next to each other on the bridge, their legs dangling just above the hill Ben had rolled down, mindful not to be too close to the road if a car passed by.

"Well, you're one to talk," Richie says. "You never even noticed I've been the boy pulling your girly pigtails since first grade."

Eddie stares at him, an eyebrow raised.

"Why am I the girl?"

"Because you're cuter than I am," Richie says.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Eddie says, though his cheeks are pink.

"You liked it."

Both boys sigh and stare into the trees, hearing birds and bees chirping and buzzing merrily.

"You got your pocket knife?"

Richie, his own eyebrow now raised, stares at Eddie but pulls out his pocket knife. He hands it over, then snorts with laughter as Eddie carefully takes it and even more carefully flicks it open, clearly trying his hardest to figure out how to open it without actually touching the blade lest he accidentally cut himself.

"Full name or initials?"

"Our asses are getting kicked either way," Richie says. "Go big or go home, loser."

"Fair point," Eddie says, holding the handle the wrong way as he pressed the tip of the blade to the wood, biting his tongue.

"Give me that before you hurt yourself and I have to take you to the hospital," Richie says, though he is mindful of taking the knife back, as to not accidentally cut himself lest Eddie start to panic and the moment is ruined. "You'd be visiting me in the morgue if your mom found out."

Eddie rolls his eyes but doesn't comment, because he knows that's true. He watches as Richie proceeds to carve names into a clear spot. Richie isn't the best at cursive, but he does try his best. He doesn't think it looks too bad either, not at all sloppy either, especially as he makes the big R and the big E particularly deep so that they stand out more.

_Richie Tozier + Eddie Kaspbrak_

"Should've put Eddie Bear," Richie says, grinning.

Eddie shakes his head but carefully takes back the knife, holding it firmly around the handle, and he carefully carves little hearts for the dots for the i's in Richie's first and last name and in his own first name, and then carves a deep, lopsided heart around their names. Richie's grin widens.

"Gay."

"Shut up, you like it," Eddie says, handing him back the knife but not before closing it.

"Yeah..." Richie says, smiling in a dorky way, his heart and belly fluttering. A boyish thing, Richie's grin. "Yeah, I do."

"Does this make us gay?"

"Sure it does, Eddie Bear. I'm happy. How about you?"

Eddie's lips quirk into a faint smile.

"Be serious," he says.

"I am being serious," Richie says truthfully. "Bowers can honestly go fuck himself," he says as he sighs and stares at his doll. He clears his throat, feeling nervous again as his heart seems to palpitate in his chest. He swallows. "So, when the circus does finally open... _someone_ has to go with me to protect me from the... hotness of the clown?"

Eddie rolls his eyes but still continues to smile.

"Your way of asking a guy out on a date is just terrible," Eddie says.

"Do I still get my kiss?"

"No," Eddie says, grinning at the shocked, almost betrayed look on Richie's face. "You haven't' even taken me out on a date yet. I expect dinner. A romantic candlelit one. Spaghetti and meatballs. Music too."

"Gay."

"Shut up, you like it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Chapter ten is heading your way!  
> \- Let me know how it was in the comments below!  
> 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Thanks to everyone who leaves comments and kudos! Over a hundred kudos! Yay!  
> \- I want to apologize in advance to Bill but this is a story about monsters, is it not?  
> \- Also, a warning for crappy parenting that turns to bad parenting.  
> \- Also, somebody made a comment on Fear that stuck with me so expect some kind of a Mickey Mouse reference sometime down the road.  
> \- The first scene is taken from the pharmacy scene from the remake of A Nightmare on Elm Street, the middle scene is my own, and the last scene is taken from Beastars.  
> \- A heads up, I'll be having some songs in some later chapters, such as the opening chapter of the circus, which may or may not be the next chapter, not sure yet, and I'm super excited to start writing the circus chapters, and taking scene ideas from other movies. I've even got a third movie in mind that I'm not sure if I'll be adding to the fandom list but it will definitely become a major part of this story.  
> \- Also, there will most likely(probably definitely) be more Beverly & Ben, Richie & Eddie, the precious dorks in love.  
> \- Let me know how this chapter was in the comments below! Seriously, the comments and kudos are the best!  
> \- I had to write so much of this on my phone. Ohmygod that was awful but worth it lol

"Where do you think your doll is?"

Bill can only shrug at Georgie's question, but he does smile at the curious, excited, and definitely hopeful look on his little face.

Georgie has been asking the very same question since Richie had called to tell Bill that Eddie had found his doll in the claw machine at the arcade.

Of course, it really was no secret to anyone in Derry at this point that Richie had his doll. Almost all of the kids in Derry knew this already, considering the fact that Richie and Eddie had apparently, more than effectively, pissed off Henry Bowers and his little cousin (a lot of people not even knowing he had a cousin), the latter who Eddie had also kicked in the groin for making a nasty comment and for using homophobic slurs.

It was also no secret why Eddie would have chosen to kick Bowers' cousin instead of Bowers himself.

Of course, now there was the rumor that Eddie Kaspbrak and Richie Tozier were together, as a couple, but Bill was positive it wasn't just a rumor. Neither Richie or Eddie had said much, and Bill wasn't going to push either one. None of the Losers were, Bill was sure. He was happy for them and he knew he wasn't the only one.

The boy who had blown Eddie a kiss. A couple of girls who gave him grins and both boys and girls who had given him thumbs up for standing up to Bowers and his cousin like that. Honestly, Bill would have expected something like that out of Richie instead of Eddie.

Mostly though, he was torn between feeling amused by the smug look on Georgie's face that clearly said, "I told you so" when Richie had told Bill about that part and they had overheard some kids talking about the two of them, and feeling like a dolt for not having realized it himself sooner, as Stan and Beverly had. Then again, Ben hadn't noticed either but Bill knew that wasn't saying much since Ben hadn't been around them for very long.

Beverly hadn't been around them for very long either, but Bill guessed she was just more observant than he was, like Stan.

Bill shook his head as he pushed the shopping cart forward, still unable to believe that he had lost the fight between himself and Georgie. He blamed it on Georgie being smaller and able to outrun him. Georgie was sitting in the front of the cart, almost like a smaller child would, and was lightly tapping his feet against Bill's stomach in rhythm of the David Bowie song that was currently playing in the background.

Bill also knew that Georgie, who must've thought himself the sneakiest of the sneaky, or just didn't give a crap because he knew he could get away with it with Bill, was grabbing sweets and throwing them into the cart behind himself when he thought Bill wasn't looking.

"I d-d-d-don't kn-kn-nuh-know," Bill says, shrugging again as he grabs a couple boxes of cereal.

It is both endearing, and astounding, how Georgie is adamant that Lucky Charms can count as breakfast, lunch, dinner, and a midnight snack all in one. Especially since he was eating at a box at the moment.

"I mean, Eddie found Richie's at the arcade, Ben found Beverly's at the pharmacy and she found his in the clubhouse, Stan's dad found his, Mike got his from a bird, and me and Eddie both got ours from Pennywise," Georgie says with a mouthful of marshmallows.

Bill knew he was picking and choosing between the marshmallows and the oats.

"Eddie and I," Bill corrects him, not even stuttering as he smiles.

"Yeah," Georgie says, grinning a toothy, rainbow colored grin.

Bill just smiles, shaking his head, and continues pushing the cart.

He thinks he actually enjoys grocery shopping, especially with Georgie. He thinks its definitely better than having his dad breathing down his neck and complaining that he was doing the grocery shopping all wrong too, while gripping Bill's arm to the point that it bruised.

Bill honestly hadn't even realized that grocery shopping was supposed to be another one of his chores, and hadn't thought of it until just today when his dad laid it out for him. No questions asked and no arguments. His dad had done it for a while after their mom had left, but Bill figured he had gotten sick of the constant reminder that his wife was gone and had decided to pawn it off onto Bill instead.

Bill didn't mind very much. His dad had the decency to write him out the shopping list, but expected Bill to go about it without him. Bill figured this was one of the better chores, as his dad had not come in with him to voice his discontent with Bill's way of doing things and make sure Bill felt some semblance of the pain he was feeling by grabbing his arm.

His only real problem with it is that Georgie was supposed to be in bed by now, even if it is summer, since it is pushing ten o'clock and the store is going to close soon, but he does like the peacefulness of it and considers it quality time with his little brother. Even if he did seem to think he could get away with sneaking sweets into the groceries, including that Cadbury Creme egg Bill just saw him grab and throw in with the vegetables.

"I s-s-saw that," Bill says, still smiling.

Georgie just gives him an innocent grin, the marshmallows still staining his teeth, and Bill laughs.

"I mean, maybe yours was in the Barrens and we missed it because we had to take Ben to the pharmacy," Georgie says. "Pennywise _was_ there."

Bill shakes his head, understanding what Georgie is trying to get at, though he doesn't understand how Georgie can still think that the clown was actually in the sewers. The Barrens and the storm drain or not.

"We're not g-g-going b-b-buh-bah-back to the B-B-Buh-Barrens, G-Georgie," Bill says.

"Not even tomorrow?"

It really is late. It is dark outside, and Bill is certain that his dad's car is the only one in the parking lot and the only other people in the store are at least three ghost crew cashiers. Two at the counters and one he saw hiding between the aisles.

Of course, Bill knows that just because he can't _see_ anybody else outside doesn't mean they aren't there, lurking in the shadows like some kind of a creep or a monster. Georgie's doll, which is next to the box of Lucky Charms, frowns at that.

If Bill was honest, with himself, he was positive his dad might've forgotten that he had left Bill and Georgie in the store without any other adult supervision besides the two, possibly three, cashiers working the night shift. A bored looking teenage girl, an elderly man that was scratching at lottery tickets, clearly growing more and more desperate for a big win, and one that Bill only caught a glimpse of before he, or maybe she, disappeared behind one of the aisles. Bill hadn't seen him, or maybe her, since.

The point is, Bill doesn't like the implication. Just as he doesn't like the dull throbbing pain he's feeling in his right forearm, the deep purple having only just returned to a dull brown coloring, which came from just hours ago before they had left to go to the store.

He also doesn't like the fact that he can see the car outside, and his dad isn't in it, and he definitely doesn't like the fact that there's a bar across the street, which has more cars in its parking lot than the store does. He definitely doesn't like that implication.

"N-no G-G-Guh-Georgie," Bill says, sighing.

Patiently, of course.

"It's n-n-nuh-not s-s-safe out there. It's d-d-d-da-dan-dang--" Bill stutters.

His cheeks turn red as he tries to force the word out of his mouth, his tongue seemingly fighting with him on the matter. He bites his lip, grits his teeth, and scowls, his frustration bubbling over. Georgie just smiles.

Patiently, of course.

"Okay," Georgie says, conceding and Bill sighs, grateful. "But you'll find it."

Bill isn't so sure. He hasn't really been looking for his doll, not that he plans on telling Georgie that, even though the dolls do seem to pop up quite randomly. Then again, Bill isn't so sure on that either. Actually, he does think that there is a pattern to their appearances, because it seems that everyone, mostly his friends, have told him how they got their dolls and there was some sort of relativity to the event that either led up tot he find or followed right after.

Stan was the first one of the Losers' Club to find his doll. Before Ben, Beverly, and Mike and technically speaking, even Georgie, had _officially_ joined. Or, at the very least, be given his. His dad had given it to him but hadn't made much of an effort to actually _speak_ with Stan and had even thrown it on the floor rather than actually give it to him, and this was right after his dad had caught him about not studying for his Torah reading.

If Bill was counting Georgie as the first person to get his, then he had gotten his right after Bill had made him his boat and right before their dad caught their mom cheating on him, and had been given his by the clown directly rather than randomly finding it and instead of losing his boat, the clown had given it back to him.

Bill still didn't understand the whole, "clown in a storm drain" thing even if Georgie thought it was one of the best things in the whole wide world. Along with Lucky Charms.

Mike had said that a large bird had dropped his out of the sky right above the alleyway next to the meat store in town. This was right after he had almost been run down by Belch in the very same alley. He had even mentioned, too, a particular lack of fondness of bird, one he'd held since he had been attacked by a bird when he was a little kid. Bill knew there was more to Mike's story about the alley incident than he was telling, but Mike clearly hadn't wanted to talk about it and nobody had pressed the matter. Not even Georgie or Richie. Bill was certain that Mike was grateful for that.

Ben had found his, the first time, in the library after reading a book about Derry's grim history. He had even followed a red balloon, long before he even knew of the riddle Pennywise had told Georgie all the way back in October, which Bill now wondered why Georgie had waited so long to say anything about it, as he hadn't mentioned it until the Derry Summer Fair.

Bill would assume Georgie had forgotten the riddle, but wondered how that could be since Georgie had spent months talking about the clown and his excitement for the circus.

Thinking back to Ben, shaking those curious thoughts away, Bill knew that he had lost his to Bowers and Patrick (Bill shuddered to think about him) and while running from Bowers and his gang, Ben had met the Losers, at the time only Bill, Richie, Stan, Eddie, and Georgie, in the Barrens. That had been the day he had joined their group.

Ben was also the one who had found Beverly's doll at Mr. Keene's pharmacy and then was promptly bullied by Gretta, who was promptly punched in the face by Beverly after her rude and nasty comments, some of which, Ben and Beverly kept from Bill and Georgie and he didn't like that implication either. Richie and Eddie found Beverly punching her impressive and no less than what she deserved, and Beverly had found Ben's right after.

Whether or not it was the same one Ben had lost or a new one, none of them knew, but she had found it in the clubhouse that Ben had built for them, a red balloon tied to one of the boards. Beverly also happened to be the one who had gotten the key from Pennywise's riddle. Something that Bill knew had made her happy.

It even had a button shape at the end of it, identical to the eyes on the dolls.

None of them knew for certain what door the key actually opened, but Beverly supposed it meant some big carnival prize and had even been the one to suggest it before Ben had actually found the doll. Bill was certain that, even though they hadn't known about the riddle beforehand, a lot of people were jealous that Beverly got the key. Gretta Keene especially.

Now Eddie, though before Ben and Beverly's incident, had been given his by Pennywise personally, the same as Georgie, right outside of Neibolt, but this was right after Eddie had accidentally dropped every single one of his pills into the street and had made a point of saying how disgusting both Neibolt and the street were. Then Eddie was the one who had found Richie's doll in the arcade, in the claw machine, right before the big scene with Bowers and his cousin happened.

Bill also wasn't entirely sure as to _why_ , but the fact that Eddie said he had realized Richie's doll was in the machine right after he gave up on the turtle plush toy he had been trying to win Georgie had struck him as odd. And the fact that Eddie had also said he hadn't bothered with the creepy white spider plush toy, which, by his description of it, reminded Bill of the spider he had seen at the quarry, or even the Barn Owl plush toy, which also struck Bill as odd. Mostly, it was strange because Eddie swore up and down that Richie's doll had not been in the claw machine for the two hours he had been standing in front of it, and the minute he looked away and then looked back, there it was.

Whether or not the clown was actually in the arcade, trying to screw with Eddie, as the boy in question had so eloquently put it, Bill had no idea, but it still made no sense. Eddie hadn't walked away from the machine, so there was no way Pennywise could've gotten Richie's doll into it without Eddie noticing... right?

Bill shook his head.

He had no idea as to what the relativity of his doll was supposed to be, assuming Pennywise had actually made one for him, but he was sort of hoping he did find it before the circus actually opened, unless, by some chance, Pennywise was actually waiting until every kid in Derry had found theirs to actually open the circus. To Bill, that was also confusing and odd.

Derry was a small town, but there was no way Pennywise knew for certain how many kids had found there dolls... right?

The Georgie doll's frown turned into a small smile. Though, it did dim back down into a frown.

Bill just hoped he found it soon because he didn't want to think about the disappointed look on Georgie's face if he had to tell him that he hadn't found it.

He knew what Georgie wanted more than anything was for the eight of them to go to the circus together and Bill honestly didn't want to be the only one left out. He wasn't so much excited for the circus itself, mostly because he could already imagine Georgie running for the cotton candy and the popcorn, the sticky, buttery mess that was going to be, along with the inevitable sugar high, as he was hopeful to have fun with his friends and his little brother.

He sighs as he pushes the cart towards the counter, the teenage cashier looking bored out of her mind and the elderly one on the verge of tears. He has no idea where the third one is at.

The doll's frown deepens.

Bill would either find his doll or he wouldn't, but he couldn't really imagine letting Georgie out of his sight even if he would be with Eddie and Beverly, Stan and Ben, Mike and Richie. The most responsible of his friends listed first, of course. But he also couldn't imagine telling Georgie that he couldn't go just because Bill couldn't. He couldn't do that to Georgie even fi he couldn't imagine letting Georgie go without him. Especially after what happened, or could have happened, back in October.

Especially since, right after Richie and Eddie's incident in the arcade, Bill had overheard some kids talking about how Belch and Vic and even that Connor kid had gotten their dolls. Belch's even had the same hat and the same Metallica shirt he had been wearing during the rock fight. Bill had no idea if Bowers or even Patrick, the latter he still hadn't seen since that horrible nightmare, had gotten dolls of their own, but figures Belch and Vic and Bowers' cousin at the same circus as Georgie and his friends is bad enough. Especially after the arcade incident. Bill just doesn't want Georgie going anywhere without him, even if the others are with him.

 _Especially_ after Vic's parting words after the rock fight even if there was no way Georgie's aim was actually that good.

Of course, he also knew that Belch and Vic and even Connor had called the dolls stupid, girly, dorky, among other offensive terms, that last one, according to Eddie, having made a nasty comment about the circus. Yet he also knew for a fact that Belch and Vic, and most likely Connor too, were not going to pass up a free trip to the circus.

The lights, white and bright as ever, flicker above their heads, buzzing rather dully. Bill can see dead flies under the brightness of the bulbs. He sighs as he starts putting the groceries on the counter, including Georgie's opened box of Lucky Charms, the teenage clerk looking annoyed that he came to her instead of the old-timer and probably annoyed at the fact the third one was still missing.

The doll looked quite terrified now, not that Bill or even Georgie notice.

"I have to go to the bathroom."

Bill sighs as the girl scoffs.

"W-w-wh-wuh-why d-didn't g-g-guh-go when I asked if you h-had t-t-to?"

"I didn't have to go then," Georgie says, looking genuinely apologetic but still smiling.

Bill sighs through his nose. He's not mad at Georgie. He doesn't think he ever really could be. Mostly, he just wonders if their dad would bother coming to look for them since this is going to take longer than expected. Then again, he can still see outside and even under the darkness, he can still tell that the front seat of the car is empty.

Across the street, the dimly lit, seedy looking bar is still open.

Bill just hopes his dad knows his limit but figures they won't be missed if he takes Georgie to the bathroom first. He pulls the cart away from the counter, the clerk rolling her eyes, clearly annoyed, and pushes it towards the back of the store.

"D-d-d-d-d-on't t-t-tuh-tuh-take to l-lo-long," Bill says as he pulls Georgie out of the seat, nearly getting kicked in the stomach as he does, and sets him on the floor.

"I won't," Georgie says, smiling. "And I'll put the toilet paper on the seat, just like Eddie."

Bill smiles at that but shakes his head when Georgie reaches for his doll.

"L-l-l-luh-luh-lee--" Bill starts to stutter again.

"Okay..." Georgie says, his lower lip jutting out into a pout before he grins, walking away.

Bill watches him walk into the bathroom, sighing again. He hopes his dad doesn't miss them...

A moment passes. The lights flicker and buzz, bright and then dim. Bill sniffles as he looks over the list, tapping it with his pen. He frowns when he realizes he forgot the detergent. Everything else is crossed off and in the cart, alongside Georgie's sneaked sweets.

"Dammit..."

He sighs softly, looking around.

Nobody else seems to be in the store and Bill supposes that if they felt the need to steal his cart or the things in it, they needed the items more than he did. Besides, it's just down the next aisle... Georgie should be safe...

A strange feeling envelopes Bill at that moment.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickle as his skin feels slightly cold, his stomach having a strange feeling. A mix of foreboding and something else he can't quite decipher.

He feels as though he's being _watched_.

He blinks, turning back towards the bathroom door. It isn't open. Georgie isn't already back. He looks down at the doll and sees that it's looking right up at him and then understands what Richie meant about how it honestly felt like the dolls could actually stare at you. Which was also an implication of Georgie's riddle.

He shakes his head, lowering the doll so that it's lying on its face and stomach and not looking at him and hoping nobody saw him do that as he turns around and walks away from the cart. He has the money in his pocket anyway and he doubts somebody can really get away with stealing somebody else's doll...

The brightness of the lights flicker and become dim as he walks down the aisle, the buzzing sound increasing almost as though a fly is right beside his ear. He smacks at his own head, thinking that's the case. He _hates_ it when they do that. He can barely even hear the lyrics anymore... and frowns at what he _does_ hear. It almost doesn't even sound like Bowie...

" _ ~~How... **you** turn... **his** world... **you** precious thing~~..._"

Bill frowns even and even stops halfway down the aisle. It doesn't sound... it doesn't sound like _anything_. It sounds like a cross between both a man and a woman singing, but he can't really tell the difference. Is it a man or is it a woman or is it both at the same time?

The sound is _horrible_. A complete butchering of whatever the song was supposed to be. It almost sounded like nails on a chalkboard mixed with knives scraping together and the hoarsest, _scariest_ voice imaginable. He doesn't even hear any music. Only loud beats almost like a heartbeat, but it's quick and sporadic.

Almost like the beats of a heart that is either terrified and the beats are the sound of its _fear_ , or the heart is enraged and the beats are the sound of its _rage_.

" ~~ _ **You**... starve... and near... exhaust **him**..._~~"

Bill flinches, gritting his teeth, as a sharp _whining_ sound like the whine from the TV from his nightmare or even the whining of his and Georgie's shared walkie talkies echoes out of the store's speakers... his ears pulse and throb with pain.

He lets out a sharp cry of pain as the whining sound _increases_. As though someone is turning up the volume and it isn't lessening the shrieking sound... Bill is torn between screwing his eyes shut from the lout noise or opening them wide at the question in his mind.

Shrieking?

" ~~ _Everything **he's** done... **he's** done for... **you**..._~~"

Bill jumps when the speakers suddenly screech and sound like they're bursting like light bulbs just as the lights on both ends of the store and even in the middle start to flicker and die, switching almost instantly between dark and light.

Dark into light. Light into dark.

" ~~ _ **He** moves..._~~"

Bill whimpers as everything starts to feel cold and strange. He feels eyes on him, as though Mr. Clean was actually staring at him and Bill jumps when he sees the faces on the bottles contort into vicious scowls. He lets out a cry when he sees the eyes change into black little buttons...

He has no idea that the Georgie doll is staring at the aisle, a petrified look on the little doll's face.

" ~~ _... the stars..._~~ "

His skin is cold as ice, arctic with terror, yet somehow feeling as though it was burning. Sweat beaded down his temples, goosebumps erupting over the flesh of his arms. His legs felt like cinder blocks at the sound of the voice echoing out of the broken speakers... like radio static... a monstrous octave acting as an undertone... and Bill freezes when his eyes look down the aisle, away from the bathroom where Georgie is still at (he _hopes_ ) and he sees it.

" ~~ _... for **no one**..._~~"

A dark figure is standing just outside the doors to the store. Indistinguishable. Man or woman, Bill has no clue, even thought the lights to the store are right in front of it despite the flickering and dimness of them... a shaky breath escapes him as his mind flashes back to his nightmarish incident with Patrick, the boy hoping beyond hope... this was just another horrible, awful, nightmare...

He hears a strange sound at the end of the aisle as all three of the lights at that end of the store flicker simultaneously, bright and then dim, light and then dark... the shadow is _moving_...

His heart begins to pound in his chest, feeling ready to burst from between his ribs as his stomach drops and the backs of his legs turn icy and feel like lead. Every instinct wills him to run, to turn around and run as fast as his gelatin-like legs will carry him, but something urges him not to run because somehow he knows that whatever the shadow is, whoever or whatever, will attack...

Bill's eyes grow glassy with tears as he remembers the encounter with Patrick... a nightmare, he still hopes for... because things like that just don't happen... and he begins to panic about _that_.

 _Is_ he dreaming? Is he imagining things because he's so tired? It _really_ is quite late... He lifts his foot, about to take a step back, but a low voice stops him.

It reminds him of the nightmare incident with Patrick, that low voice. A little voice whispering in his ear.

_Don't move. Don't move a **fucking muscle**._

Bill listens to that voice, the same as in his previous dream (why won't he wake up?!), and turns completely still. The shadow flickers itself, the darkness of it, the mixture of ebony and charcoal coloring becoming distorted and almost murky like mud.

A low growl echoes through the store, chilling Bill to his core.

"H-h-h-he th-th-thru-thrusts h-his f-f-fuh-fuh-ists agains-st the p-p-posts," Bill begins to stutter out the rhyme his mother wrote for him, unsure of why he's doing it but he does. Almost as though it's a safety blanket. "... a-a-and s-s-st-still in-insists he s-s-suh-suh-sees the g-g-ghosts..."

The low growl becomes louder...

A dirty little voice echoes from the shadow, its voice indiscernible regarding gender. He doesn't actually hear any coherent words, but Bill is certain he recognizes the voice.

He has no idea why, but that indiscernible voice sends a chill unlike anything he's ever felt before through his entire body. It sounds so familiar, but he can't quite place it even though it is right there on the tip of his tongue, in the darkest corners of his mind and his memories.

Almost like a dream he can just barely reach, but not quite hold... but it isn't a dream. It's a nightmare.

The scenery changes, as though Bill is hallucinating or dreaming, and he can smell the sewer and the circus. Cotton candy and _blood_ , popcorn and _rot_ , peanuts and _sewage_ , hot dogs and _death_.

He jumps, every inch of his body trembling with anticipation and pure, raw, unbidden fear, as he sees something akin to an _arm_ extending out of the shadowy figure, almost like a _hand_ is reaching for him...

He does _not fucking reach back_.

Little voices echo in his ears, almost like the voices of little girls and little boys. Those voices, like that first little voice that told him not to move a muscle, somehow, someway, bring him _comfort_.

The growl echoes again, louder this time, and Bill's lips part as they tremble.

All of those voices, the little girls and the little boys and even that other voice, all say one thing all at the exact same time;

" _Run_..."

He listens. He nearly turns to run when the lights all burst and die together, as though every light in the store has suddenly decided it was their time or some cliche horror movie monster or villain has cut the power and the surge of electricity made every bulb explode and caused the glass to shatter.

The shadow lunges.

With each unsteady, almost fizzy, static-like step it takes, getting closer to Bill, the lights all buzz loudly as though the dead flies have suddenly come alive. Yet Bill is sure that amongst the buzzing of the flies, he can hear _screaming_.

Boys and girls. Men and women.

 _Terrified_.

 ** _Dying_**.

The shadow moves, inches away from Bill, who isn't even aware that he isn't standing in the store anymore, but instead he is standing in a sewer system. In the darkness. In the blood. In the rot. Inches away from death...

A shadowy arm reaches for him, a large hand reaching to grab him.

Bill feels sweaty and cold, trapped like a fly caught in a spider's web, when he sees _claws_ extending out of that hand instead of _fingers_. Button eyes flicker in the shadowy figure's head as it growls at him, low and monstrous, dangerous... deadly.

"Look at what _**you**_ did to _**me**_..." the shadow growls at him, Bill giving a shaky, stuttering gasp at the sound of the voice only inches away...

He feels the breath of the creature behind the shadow ghosting over his flesh. It's _cold_. Without a smell to conjure up a face for the creature lurking within the depths of the shadow.

 _As though there is **no monster**_.

The shadow twitches.

The growling sound increases.

Bill's heart beats unsteadily. Sporadic. Without rhythm. _Petrified_.

His mind can only think one thing. He wills it to be a dream. Another nightmare. Wills it. Begs it. Prays it.

 _ **It's** **not real**_.

Inches from his face, an earsplitting, gut-wrenching, bone chilling, earth-shattering, monstrous roar echoes from the shadow. The sound is static. The octave a cross between a screech and a bellow. But the emotion is clear.

Angry. Enraged. Furious. Livid...

 _ **It's not real**_.

 _Fucking **pissed**_.

" _ **You** _did this to **me**!"

The arm rises above the shadow, which itself is over six feet tall, and the claws, black as the night, black as ebony, distorted as radio static and white noise, extend beyond the lengths of any creature known to this earth. Bill falls back as the shadow lunges for him and the claws are inches from slashing open his skin.

He falls to the floor, on his back and his elbows, the scenery flashing before his eyes. The lights of the store flickering above his head, the dirty, watery, darkness of the sewer enveloping him while the coldness of the wet concrete of the sewer floor touches his bare skin and the coldness of the dirty tile of the store's floor touches him too.

Lights flicker.

Dark and light. Light and dark. Dark to light. Light to dark.

He backs away from the shadow as it approaches him, button eyes revealed within the depths of the murkiest of its shadows... Claws extend further and further.

For whatever reason, his mind conjures up Freddy Krueger preparing to slash him open with the blades on his glove...

" _ **YOU** _DID THIS TO _**ME**_!"

It's voice echoes, screaming at him. It slashes at the walls of the sewer, Bill covering his head with one hand and unintentionally baring his arm as supplies fall from the shelves and powders explode above him, falling onto him as they clatter to the floor.

Bill screams, the sound high-pitched and shrill, echoing in the darkness of the sewer and the brightness of the store as he feels the powders touching his skin and his hair.

The shadow lifts its arm and Bill turns on his side, using his arm to protect himself.

He screams as he feels his _skin_ being _ripped **open**_. He can just barely hear his own blood splattering against the sewer walls or perhaps its the bottles on the shelves... He cries out, his eyes burning with terrified tears, as he feels the hot wetness of blood touching his arm.

 _His own blood_.

"LOOK AT WHAT _**YOU** _DID TO **_ME_**!"

Bill feels the wet coldness of the sewer floor touching his face and the palm of his hand, the back of his hand inches from his forehead where he has his arm protecting his head, unintentionally leaving his stomach and his back and the rest of his body unguarded, and he begins to cry and then sob and even blubber, horrified beyond words, as he feels blood staining his skin and soiling his shirt.

His eyes are screwed shut and he opens his mouth wide, letting out a shrill scream as he twitches in pain, the claws having cut _deep_. He grits his teeth as he twitches on the cold floor of the store.

"Billy?"

He whimpers and jerkily sits up, almost slipping on the floor as he looks down the aisle, towards the bathroom, where Georgie is standing with two dolls in his hands, looking beyond scared.

He whimpers as he quickly looks around, hurting his neck with his quickness, and sees that the shadow and the sewers are gone, as are the smells.

"The hell is going on down there?!"

Both of the cashiers are standing at the other end of the aisle, just in front of the doors where the shadow had stood. So is his dad.

"Billy... you're bleeding..."

Georgie's voice sounds _so scared_. Bill whimpers as his dad runs down the aisle, pulling off his jacket and nearly tripping as he sits next to Bill, who whimpers fearfully. He saw the bottles stained with _blood_ \-- _his_ _blood_ \-- above his head. Still on the shelves, unlike the ones on the other side of him.

He hesitantly looks at his shirt, his eyes red-rimmed and already puffy from crying, and sees that the claws had torn through his sleeve and indeed ripped into his flesh. _Deeply_.

"Jesus Christ, the fuck did you do?"

As his dad asks this, he presses his jacket against the still bleeding slashes, Bill crying out in pain as all three wounds sting, pulse, throb, and gush blood. In that order. Though that last one happens altogether.

Bill's whole arm feels numb as he stares at the shelves with the knocked over items. His blood is staining the sharp ends of them, making it looks though he might have slipped and fell over, knocking the items down as he went even though the blood had splattered the items on the shelves on the other side.

"Jesus Christ, get in the car," Zack says quickly as the wounds continue to gush blood, which is sliding down Bill's arm while dripping from his elbow.

"W-w-w-what... the gr--" Bill stutters.

The sick realization is that he is stuttering because his heart is still retaining its sporadic beats rather than because of his actual stutter.

"Fuck the fucking groceries," Zack says, picking him up as though he weighed no more than a doll.

Bill cries out as the pain flares up his entire arm, almost mocking of the former numbness, though he can't feel his fingers.

As Zack Denbrough carries one son to the car, almost hazardously throwing the money for the groceries onto the counter, Georgie and the two cashiers helping put the groceries away, both looking completely shocked, as though they cannot understand what has just happened, the third, previously mentioned, previously unseen, cashier lurks in the corners by Bill's splattered blood, a guilty look on **_his_ **face.

He hides behind the shelves at the back of the store, in the space between the lined up shelves and the wall, his hand on the shelf and pressing his palm and his fingers deeply into the metal of it until they _bleed_.

Yet it does nothing to distinguish the pungent aroma currently invading his sense of smell.

Coppery. Almost like iron. Tangy yet _so **sweet**_.

The pain in his hand and his fingers does nothing to silence the voice in his head. Nor does it deter the sweetness of her voice as it echoes in his head like a tender, _loving_ croon...

_You'll thank me later..._

The trip to the hospital was a blur for Bill. Though he would find out later that it was nearly four hours until they got home. First his dad is driving quickly to the hospital, then is carrying him through the doors to the emergency room and then he can hear Georgie asking above chattering doctors and nurses if he's going to be okay. Then the feeling of needles prickling his skin, an IV, stitches, and even a heart monitor that races as quickly as his own heart, someone cleaning his arm, all while Georgie is watching, horrified, in the background.

Bill honestly lost count of how many stitches there were, in each gash, and how many nurses nearly fainted at the sight of his arm. It was astounding how his dad had actually seemed to care about him despite his previous treatments... of which, one of the nurses had noticed the bruises, but a glazed sort of look had appeared in her soft eyes as she applied the gauze with the gentlest of hands.

Bill had completely missed how they flashed yellow under the lighting, a sort of hungry look in their ominously shaded depths.

The doctor had warned his dad that had they gone any deeper, they could very well have torn his bicep clean open, obliterated the muscle, and he could've lost the use of his arm entirely or even the whole arm. He wouldn't need a sling to hold his arm, but he would need to let it rest. He figured his dad's consideration for his well being would dim when he realized that meant cooking his own meals and cleaning the house for himself. Or even taking out the trash, Bill thought grimly.

Georgie hadn't left his side even once, almost crying when the yellow eyed nurse had to shove him away from Bill.

The pain hadn't dimmed in the slightest, the pulsing, throbbing feeling echoing in his arm almost as though his arm was a tunnel and the pain was a voice at one far away end and trying to reach the other one. The medications did nothing to help.

Bill didn't want Georgie out of his sight very much either. Despite the fact that Georgie was supposed to be in bed and not be allowed to see his older brother covered in blood and almost carved by a monster... even if Bill was the only one to actually see the shadow...

What he had seen, he was certain it had to be some kind of nightmarish thing... maybe a hallucination because of his tiredness... but it had only been one night... then again, he hadn't been sleeping very well since his nightmare about Patrick... so many he was sleep deprived and just hurt himself on the shelves like everyone seemed to think...

Yet it didn't sit right with him. Nothing about this night was sitting right with him.

The hospital sucked in Bill's opinion. He mostly couldn't understand how Eddie's mom honestly seemed to think that this was the best place for her son in the whole, wide world. He was certain that if Richie was here, instead of in bed, sleeping, like Georgie was supposed to be, he would've made a comment about sterilization, which would've resulted in Eddie complaining about Richie's lack of proper appreciation for medical supplies and the goodness of hospitals and the goodness of doctors.

Bill, for one, doesn't even like his doctor, who hasn't even really looked at him since he first came here and instead let the nurses handle it. He also doesn't like the mixture of clean, crisp smells that are burning his nose and he definitely doesn't like the scent lingering underneath those ones.

The scent that makes his skin _crawl_.

Mostly, he really hates that beeping noise from the heart monitor. Which still matches his own heartbeat, which is still racing with fear. Multiple times the nurses come to check on him, but do nothing about it, that same glazed over look falling upon their eyes and they quickly retreat as though they can't get away fast enough. The doctor still having not actually spoken to Bill personally, instead relaying information to his dad on the other side of the curtain.

Bill didn't want to have to explain this to his friends. Eddie especially. He figured Eddie would agree that he was sleep deprived and just having bad dreams, Stan too, now that he thought about it, but something else didn't add up.

Beverly's bathroom... the blood...

Unless that was some sort of plumbing gone very, very, _very_ wrong, or some kind of stupid, nasty prank, something was amiss. Bill misses the flinching of the nurse in the hallway.

Bill shakes his head. It has to be bad dreams. It has to be. Well, they all saw Beverly's bathroom but that had to be really bad plumbing or some kind of gross prank. Not on Beverly's part, Bill didn't think because she had seemed as terrified of the blood as he was of that shadow.

Bill's head jerks as he closes his eyes, thinking.

He recognized the voice echoing out of that shadow, but he couldn't quite place it and he was getting mad. He just wanted to go home and think about it or maybe go home and forget it (that sounded a lot better, actually) but he couldn't.

"How did you fall down?"

Bill sighs and sniffles, the tip of his nose just as red as his tear-stained cheeks and his puffy eyes, as he looks at Georgie, who still looks scared.

"I don't know," Bill says quietly.

It's half of a truth, really. Bill isn't entirely sure as to how he fell down, other than the fact that some kind of monster hiding behind a literal shadow had attacked him, which would make him sound crazy, he knew. It makes more sense to think that he was, for whatever reason, sleep deprived because of these nightmares and imagining things while he was awake because of the sleep deprivation. Not just because he was actually seeing things when he shouldn't be. Bill blinks as he stares at Georgie.

He _never_ wanted to see that terrified look on his little face again. _Ever_.

Georgie's lip quivers as his eyes turn glassy. Watery. Guilt seems to punch Bill in the stomach like Bowers' fist.

"Hey... c'mon... don't do that..." Bill says, not even stuttering.

"I wanted to tell you I found it..." Georgie says.

"W-w-what?" Bill asks, confused.

Georgie holds up one of the dolls and Bill sees it, right next to Georgie's doll, each one held up in a little hand.

It's a miniature _him_. The same auburn hair, styled the same way, only its bangs fell slightly on its forehead, the yarn punched into its head and clearly brushed until it thinned and resembled actual hair. The same black button eyes as Georgie's, though they shimmered pale blue, like Bill's own eyes, under the light of the hospital room, and it was wearing the same shirt Bill had at home. White with navy blue sleeves. It even had on the very same pair of jeans he had at home.

"I found it in the cart," Georgie says tearfully, sniffling. "Next to mine. They were both sitting up in the cart. I thought... I thought you'd like it..."

"Hey, c'mon," Bill sighs as his arm twitches in pain, his fingers trembling as he turns over, grimacing and grunting as he does.

 _Everything hurts_.

"I _do_ like it."

It's half of a truth, really. He hadn't really expected to get his doll, which now meant he had free entry into the circus, which meant he didn't have to worry about Georgie being out of his sight if he went without Bill or having to be the reason Georgie didn't get to go. That honestly made him feel better.

He just wishes he could've gotten the doll without getting slashed open like one of Freddy Krueger's victims by a talking shadow with anger issues. He knows they're going to be scars, too. Deep, most likely everlasting ones.

He gives a humorless laugh.

"I g-g-g-guess P-P-P-Pe-Puh--" Bill sighs as he stutters, "I guess Bob--"

A groan echoes from behind the curtain.

"-- wants m-m-m-muh-me in his circus t-too," Bill says, smiling slightly.

His own eyes sting and water as the tears return. Georgie's frown deepening. He doesn't even care about the circus. He only cares about Billy, who he wants to get better right now. Or, better yet, to have never gotten hurt at all.

"How'd you fall down?" Georgie asks again.

Bill realizes then that Georgie isn't really as naive as he might've thought. His guilt worsens. He can't imagine what must be going through Georgie's head right now, what his little brother must have thought when he saw Bill lying on the dirty floor, three deep gashes in his arms and becoming quickly covered in his own blood. He can't even imagine what Georgie must think about their mom being gone... Bill shook his head.

"I saw something bad," Bill says truthfully. "It scared me... and I fell."

"But how did you hurt yourself?"

"It scratched me," Bill says quietly.

Scratched is an understatement. Cats and dogs scratch. It _slashed_ him. Large animals or even actual _monsters_ slash.

A shaky breath echoes from behind the curtain.

Hurt. Regretful.

Both dolls are smiling, but to the keenest of eyes, it was clear the smiles were forced and _painful_.

"Why didn't you tell dad?" Georgie asks.

Bill frowns.

"He wouldn't have b-b-b-buh-buh-believed me," Bill says quietly.

Georgie stares at him, a questioning look in his teary eyes.

"I'd say crawl over here and j-j-join m-muh-me, but I just turned over," Bill says, smiling awkwardly.

Georgie narrows his eyes at him. He clearly doesn't like Bill trying to make a joke out of it like Richie would in this situation. Yet Georgie sticks his tongue out at him.

"Have fun carrying the groceries in..." Bill says quietly, sticking his own tongue out at Georgie.

His guilt lessens as he sees Georgie's lips twitching into the faintest, briefest of smiles.

"Not over," Georgie grumbles as the doctor tells his dad that he can go home.

No strenuous activities, however. And he will be prescribing painkillers and antibiotics.

The ride back home is quiet and awkward. Georgie clearly is still upset, more than Bill is, and their dad is completely quiet, though judging by the grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white as pearls, Bill guesses he's either angry or scared.

Bill sits in the passenger seat, holding his forearm of his injured arm, as he listens to Georgie and his dad carrying in the groceries. His mind doesn't even feel as though it's actually in his head or even attached to his body as he recounts what he saw.

A shadow. A shadow echoing like a broken, distorted, dying radio. A shadow screeching its fury at him like a vengeful spirit. The _mean_ est of ghosts.

He was also quite sure that he could never again smell cotton candy, peanuts, popcorn, or even hot dogs again without smelling blood, rot, sewer stink, and literal death. He trembles as he recalls the angry words the shadow had spewed at him, screeching that _Bill_ did something to _it_... The boy twitches and jerks, startling both Georgie and his dad, different thoughts racing through their minds, as he recalls the last words the shadow had screeched...

_Look at what **you** did to **me**!_

But Bill wasn't aware that he did anything to anyone, even Bowers, aside from the rock fight...

He's unaware of his dad's questioning gaze on his face, a dark look in the paleness of his eyes.

The only other thing he could think of was Patrick, but he hadn't done a thing to Patrick. He hadn't even seen him since that last day of school unless the nightmare counted, which Bill didn't exactly want to count. And even if the nightmare was counted, Bill hadn't done anything to Patrick either. Patrick was the one who, for whatever reason, came to his street, to his house, chased and attacked Bill, had --

Bill swallows the bile forming in his throat as feels his stomach contracting horribly.

His point is, he did nothing to Patrick -- breaking his nose didn't count because Patrick had tried to _hurt_ him -- and what happened to him in that awful nightmare was his own doing. Neither one of them would have been at that storm drain if not for him chasing Bill and attacking him and putting his hands where they didn't belong. Bill sighs as he feels the jerking of the car and hears the slamming of the car door.

He hadn't even realized they were home...

He hesitantly opens his own door, flinching and twitching from the pain as his arm pulses and throbs. He barely registers his dad locking the car and walking away, Georgie also walking away but with a meaningful look at Bill as he carries in the rest of the groceries and both of the dolls.

Bill doesn't move. Instead he stands in the driveway, next to the car, and holds his arm, mindful of his injuries. He trembles, his entire body shaking like a leaf about to fall from its branch, and he sobs as his nose starts to sting and his eyes burn, hot tears already streaming down his cheeks and dripping from his chin onto his dad's bloodied jacket, which his dad had forced onto him, as though he might've thought it'd make Bill feel better or stow the bleeding.

It had done neither thing.

 _Why_ was this happening to _him_?

He knew he was starting to have bags under his eyes from the lack of proper sleep, but he was scared of the nightmares. Occasionally he'd dream about those sweet faced little girls and even that little red-haired boy and so many other little babies, toddlers and younger, but those weren't as _abundant_ as the screaming nightmares. Especially the recurring one of Patrick's screams.

Sometimes, if Bill was in between good lucky and bad lucky, he would have a dream about staring into those red eyes instead of having to listen to Patrick screaming. Other times, he would be dreaming about being trapped in a never ending source of orange light that had no beginning and no end. Those were the decent ones in comparison to having to listen to Patrick's blood curdling screams and hear the literal death rattle -- Bill _hates_ that sound -- echoing from his _torn open **throat**_.

He couldn't tell his dad. He would either medicate him and force Bill to have those dreams anyway (Bill had seen enough _A Nightmare on Elm Street_ movies to know that) but it wasn't some guy in a Christmas sweater with knives for fingers. It was a nameless, shapeless, faceless monster that couldn't have one distinctive description.

Sometimes it was like looking at two sides of the same coin. One side lucky and the other side not. If Bill was lucky, he'd get the dreams about the sweet clown faced girls and maybe even the red eyes that brought him comfort. If he was unlucky, he had to listen to Patrick screaming and see other horrifying things that not even movies could show him.

He sighs and sniffles. Maybe Georgie will get his way a second time and share Bill's bed with him, because Bill knew that was the little monster's plan, and the thing is, that idea brought him comfort too.

He steps forward, more than intent on falling asleep after peeling his dad's jacket from his skin, and not looking forward to probably having to do the laundry with one arm, when he feels that same creeping feeling crawling over his skin like little wiggly bugs. The back of his neck turns cold as the hairs prickle once more.

He's been watched before, nightmare or not. He knows the feeling.

He doesn't hesitate this time. He doesn't hear any voices urging him to hold still or even to run. Almost like a rabbit fleeing a predator, he darts towards the house.

He's not even halfway across the yard...

A flash of ominous yellow. A dash of gluttonous red.

A great, large shadow leaps from the darkness and lunges for him.

Bill feels a weight (even larger than Patrick) slamming into his back and he feels his legs going out from underneath him as he begins to tumble and then _roll_. He feels long arms (as long as the shadow's arms, his mind tells him, quite unhelpfully) and his heart palpitates as his entire body freezes, his limbs turning to jelly and lead at the same time.

His breath leaves him as he and whatever has grabbed hold of him, wrapped its arms around him, pressed his back against its chest, rolls with him. As though a ball, Bill and the creature roll together and Bill briefly registers the pain flaring up in his arm, though he feels no fresh blood, and whimpers as they stop rolling across the damp grass, the blades having tickled his skin upon contact while feeling like slashing claws at the same time.

Bill knows the feeling.

Bill whimpers fearfully, his heart hurting in his chest, feeling too big for the rather small area, as his stomach turns cold and hot at the same time. Cold with fear and hot with the feeling of needing to puke.

He's on his knees, a long, thick arm wrapped around his upper half and holding him close to whatever or whoever is holding him, and he feels a large hand on his shoulder. He holds onto the arm with trembling fingers, tears streaming down his cheeks, unable to control them. He feels another arm around his waist, a second large hand on his side, almost touching his hip.

It's too dark to see anything, yet Bill is sure there is a certain shine coming from behind him. Almost as though someone is holding up two, rather small, flashlights and looking in his direction, but the light isn't white or even yellow.

It's _red_.

He tries to wiggle free but the monster holding him -- because _what else_ can **growl** like _that_? -- vibrates suddenly, its chest against Bill's back rumbling with a displeased grunt. He stills, morbidly wondering if this is how a meek rabbit feels when they're about to be devoured by a ravenous wolf.

His heart beat is not at all consistent and yet... he feels it against his back.

Inconsistent. Without rhythm. Sporadic. Palpitations. _Another heartbeat_.

Bill stares at the grass in front of him, seeing how dark it is. A strange though passes through his mind, the boy briefly wondering how he could be thinking something so stupid, so silly, and so mundane at a time like this.

Grass is green.

Green is a lively color. It reminds him of Beverly's dress. Which in turn reminds him of Beverly. How happy she seems to be when hanging out with them, Ben and Georgie especially.

How happy she makes Georgie...

Georgie reminds Bill of LEGOs, Georgie's favorite toys, his little brother having made a --

It reminds him of _turtles_ \--

He stiffens when he hears the creature give another low grunt of displeasure. Discontent.

Yet he continues that thought.

Turtles are sweet creatures, aren't they?

A disgusted grumble form behind him.

Snapping turtles are mean, sure, but only when provoked, Bill thinks with a morbid sort of fascination. Sea turtles are always so cool to look at, he thinks.

The grass beneath his feet. The turtles on land and in the sea. Those are _real_.

Bill thinks, as hard as he can, as though if he concentrates hard enough, what he thinks will come true, as though he's wishing on a star and wishes are real or actually matter...

 _It isn't real_.

Red eyes flash in the darkness.

Neither the boy nor the creature are aware of the scene they make.

Hidden in the shadows, cloaked in the darkness, a large man dressed in a clown suit, his handsome but unearthly face painted like a clown's, holds a young boy in his arms. To one perspective, it may look protective. To another, it looks dangerous. The boy's eyes, blue as the sky and pale like ice, are laced with fear as they're glazed over with a strange sort of awed and fascinated look. The creature's eyes, red as blood and glowing like rubies, are laced with fear as they're glazed over with _hurt_.

_Is this sound mine or yours?_

The creature wonders with its own sort of morbid fascination, the sound of their still beating hearts almost like rhythmic drums beating in sync.

 _I can hear your heart beating_. _I can hear the blood coursing through your veins_. _Rushing to your heart to keep it alive_... the creature thinks grimly. _Is that what being alive is about_? _Always being scared of something bigger_? _Deadlier_? _Living with the fear that you're going to die one day_?

The creature thinks that that is no way to live at all. Yet its own hurt lingers.

 _This isn't real enough for you, Billy_?

The creature wonders, _hurt_ lingering in the void that is its heart.

 _ **I'm** not real enough for you_?

Its hurt echoes as tears fall onto Bill's hair, the boy giving a start at the feeling.

 _You fear me_. The creature thinks, knowing it's true.

Billy knows there is something, a faceless, nameless _monster_ lurking in the shadows, in the darkest corners of his mind, which can't even conjure a face or even a name. But the creature knows the real truth hidden in the shadows. The boy fears what he doesn't know. He doesn't know what creature attacked him in the store, which nearly killed him. The boy doesn't know what creature has him now, which may or may not kill him.

 _You're moving so much_. _Like a little worm trying to flee a bird_... _you smell **delicious**_... _your fear seasons the meat on your bones_... _the blood in your veins_... _the marrow in your bones_... the creature thinks, the smell so tangy and yet so sweet.

 _I **told** you you'd thank me later_... **her** voice croons in his ear.

 _He'll be **so tasty**_... _their_ voices echo in his head. One and Two, as it were.

Yet for the first time in a long time, the creature ignores those voices in favor of savoring the sweet smell. More than just the blood and the bone and the flesh. More than just the fear. In the shock of this, the voices are silent.

 _You smell like paper_... _and ink_... _like a pen and a notebook_... the creature thinks, fascinated. _Have you been writing again_? _Your stories really are magnificent, aren't they, Billy_?

Bill grits his teeth, his eyes growing impossibly wide, almost feeling ready to pop out of his skull, when he feels the hand _massaging_ his side, a long thumb brushing over his hip. Almost like a gentle, tender caress.

 _What the fuck?_ He thinks, shocked and confused.

It doesn't at all feel like when Patrick put his hands on him.

A sudden, sharp grunt mixed with a small, short _roar_ startles him. Fear douses him like icy water.

 _So nice, you killed **him** twice._ **She** thinks, her tone spiteful. The creature ignores her.

 _You don't even know that it wasn't a nightmare, do you_? The creature wonders, its inhumanly red eyes downcast and sullen. _He deserved what he got... but you still think him and I are just bad dreams, don't you_?

A full lip juts out in an almost childish pout.

 _You smell like **home**_. The creature thinks. _Like paper and ink_. _Books_ _and_ _good meals and_...

Bill trembles when he hears the sound of _sniffing_. Almost like a curious dog, not mean or even hungry, only _curious_. He grits his teeth, terrified but mostly confused beyond measure, when he feels a _nose_ in the crease of his _neck_. A trembling gasp escapes his lips as he feels the nose running down the column of his neck, shuddering as he feels it touching the lobe of his ear.

It doesn't feel at all wet like a dog's nose would, Bill thinks despite his shock and confusion.

 _You're_ _missing_ _something_... the creature thinks, rather sadly.

Bill's breath hitches, catching in his throat, when he feels the large hand on his shoulder moving to hold his chin, fingers that are cold as death brushing over his cheek, the thumb on the other cheek. Yet the hold is tender, gentle, almost _shy_.

 _I'm_ _just_ _a_ _Boogeyman_ _in_ _the_ _darkest_ _corners_ _of_ _your_ _bedroom_ , _aren't_ _I_? The creature asks morosely. _I go away when the parents peek under your bed or peer into your closet_. _I go away when the light comes on. Nothing more than your imagination playing mean tricks on you_... the creature frowns, its eyes downcast. Saddened. _The only reason you don't even know I'm here, that **I am real** , is because I didn't kill Georgie._.. _Because_ _I_ **_couldn't_**... _will you ever know the **real** reason why I couldn't do it_?

The creature shakes its head, holding onto Bill as though holding a lover rather than a prey.

It enjoys the natural scent more than it does the reek of fear. The latter, which, to the creature's shock and its _delight_ , is dwindling.

The boy isn't as scared as he was, at the very least.

Bill silently wonders if this is how prey feel before the predator goes in for the kill. Terrified out of its wits, before accepting of the inevitable.

He doesn't feel scared anymore.

Well, that's half of the truth, really.

He feels scared of what the creature holding him is, and what it can do to him in a heartbeat, one faster than his own and even the creature's, but the creature isn't doing _anything_ other than holding him. It isn't hurting him or even killing him outright.

A trembling hand reaches up and backwards. Bill's breathing shakes as he feels a _face_.

The creature stills, its own heart rate increasing and quickening, the sound like an upbeat tempo. The boy's hand, the brush of his fingertips, are so soft and warm.

It knows the boy wants to know what is holding him, what moved so quickly, like an animal rather than a human, but the boy is floored by the hairless, less scaly than anticipated, less monstrous face he feels.

The creature knows what he's thinking before he says it.

"Who are you?"

 _Most tend to ask 'what' instead of 'who'_... the creature thinks morbidly.

Whether or not the creature was actually going to answer, it itself has not a clue. As a cold, cruel voice interrupts his already jumbled thought process.

 _You_ _are_ _only_ _hurting_ _yourself_ _by_ _not_ _eating_ _the_ _brats_ , She whispers in his ear. _This_ _one_ _especially_.

He lowers his head and his eyes. His arms tighten around the boy, eliciting a sharp, shocked squeak not unlike the one you'd hear from a startled mouse.

 _Go_ _away_. He thinks quickly. Fearfully.

 _I **won't** go away_. She says coldly. _None_ _of_ _us_ _will_. _You_ _can't_ _save_ **_anyone_**. _You_ _killed_ _Ed_ _in_ _a_ _feeding_ _frenzy_ _after_ _killing_ _Macklin_. _Dorsey won't last much longer either_. _You_ _killed_ _Betty and Veronica before_ _that_. _You_ _can't_ _save_ _any_ _of_ _them_. _I_ _am_ _just_ _as_ _real_ _as_ _you_. _And_ _you_ _know_ _it_. _Just_ _as_ _you_ _know_ _you're_ **_hungry_**.

"No."

Bill shakes as the creature, something with a human face, speaks.

So it _has_ to be a person... but what person can move that quickly? It's definitely a man by the low gruffness and deepness of the voice. But _who_ is it? And why does the voice sound so _scared_?

 _Your_ _mouth_ _says_ _no_ , _no_. She croons wickedly in his ear, Bill whimpering, petrified, as the man starts to whimper as though in pain. _But_ _your_ _stomach_ _says_ _yes_ , **_yes_**.

"No!"

Teeth.

Monstrously large and long, sharp as any predator creature's fangs, and white as pearls, glittering like diamonds, shimmering like stones, erupt from the creature's mouth, the man's face contorting as his jaw cracks, expands, and stretches, as he grunts in agonized pain.

"Stop!"

The cry of a creature being tortured echoes in the dark of the night.

Bill whimpers as he renews his wiggling and starts to struggle but the arms hold him tight, keeping him in place, like the bars to a prison cell, as his legs kick at the ground, knees brushing against the grass. One hand holds the arm around his chest and the other grabs at the hand holding his face, trying to pry the fingers away.

He doesn't understand why this creature is holding him in a protective embrace. Why this creature sounds so _scared_ when it is the more dangerous one between him and Bill. It has to be a person, because whoever it is is _speaking_ , but there was something else to it.

Something else. Something _dangerous_.

And unless Bill was mistaken, the creature was speaking to either itself or _someone else_.

 _Kill_ _him_ _now_.

It isn't just her now. It's all three of them working in tandem against him. Their ghostly whispers above fading echoes. Hers especially...

His eyes glow red, like bloodied gems in the darkness, as his teeth sharpen and grow, his belly rumbles with hunger, and the boy's heartbeat quickens alongside his own. Both of them are terrified, just for different reasons, though the relativity is the same.

His mouth salivates, drool dripping from his inhumanly large and sharp teeth and falling onto the boy's shoulder. The creature growls at the stink of the jacket, not at all liking it on Bill or the scent it leaves on him. Especially after the thoughts he knows Zack Denbrough has confused himself with.

 _I_ _don't_ _want_ _to_ _die_ , Bill thinks as he feels a warm wetness on his skin, dripping onto him.

Yet the fight or flight instinct does not come to him. He is still. Frozen solid. There are no instincts urging him to run.

He figures it isn't at all human, whatever it is, and realizes that he is most likely its next _meal_. He briefly wonders if that's what really happened to Betty and to Ed and figures that must be the case. He thinks with a sickening lurch in the pit of his belly, of a Missing Kid poster with his name, his age, and his picture on it. He knows he should be trying to run. Trying to run for his life... but he just isn't...

He supposes that it was better that it was him than Georgie...

The creature groans, its teeth shrinking slightly, though its fingertips do morph into sharp, jagged claws, digging into Bill's side and making the boy cry. A sound the creature doesn't like. But it cannot control its urges. Hunger or other...

 _Don't_ _think_ _about_ _it_! She screeches at him. _Do_ _it_ _now_!

But the creature can't not think about it. About _her_. About --

"BILL!"

Both boy and creature jump, both startled, Bill letting out a sharp, shocked gasp and a cry of pain when the claws unintentionally scratch his side, cutting through his dad's jacket and through his short and cutting deeply into his flesh. He feels the blood seeping through, not nearly as deep as the gashes on his arm, but deep enough to bleed and most likely scar.

Yet as he feels the hands lessening their grip, he runs for it despite the inner feeling of doing something _wrong_. He feels as though running away from the creature is a _bad_ idea...

He misses the disappointed, hurt look flashing across the clown's face that meets his scarlet, now sullen orbs. He misses how both teeth and claws stay, but the look of the clown isn't that of a hungry monster anymore.

He runs into the house, holding his side, feeling hot blood staining his fingers, as he shuts the door behind him, leaning against it. Yet he doesn't even lock it.

"The hell were you doing?"

He swallows as he looks up at his dad, who has lost all previous concern from the look on his face and has returned to anger.

"N-Nothing."

It's half of the truth. Bill wasn't doing anything other than almost getting eaten by an unknown, mostly faceless, nameless creature.

He knows he looks like shit, however. Grass stains on his pants, blood on his dad's jacket, which is torn along with his shirt, his cheeks tear-stained and his eyes swollen, red-rimmed, and puffy from crying.

Judging by the look in his dad's pale eyes, he doesn't believe him. Just for the wrong reason. His dad approaches him and the door against Bill's back feels like the door to his previously mentioned prison cell.

He jumps as he feels his dad's hand grab his chin, fingers digging into one cheek and his thumb into the other, forcing Bill's lips to part. The hardened look in his dad's eyes are unreadable, yet they remind him of Patrick... in a way Bill definitely doesn't like.

"You scared the shit out of me, Bill," Zack states bluntly, his grip on Bill's face becoming painful.

Bill whimpers. High-pitched, feeble, and _hurt_.

He has no idea what the sound really invoked in Zack Denbrough at that moment.

"I don't know what the fuck kind of drugs you're on--" Bill is too scared to roll his eyes, "but you get the fuck off them."

"I'm n-n-nuh-not on d-d-dr-drugs, d-d-dad..."

He grabs hold of his dad's wrist when the grip tightens, fingers and nails digging into his sensitive skin. His dad grabs his wrist with his other hand and the grip on that one tightens too. Bill whimpers again but doesn't dare lift his other arm. His injured one.

" _Never_ lie to me again, do you understand me?"

"I'm n-n-nuh-not..." Bill says truthfully.

His dad scowls. His face contorting nastily. Angrily.

"I _mean it_ , Bill," he says, his tone warning as he lets go off Bill's face and wrist, though he nearly throws the former to the side, hurting Bill's chin, cheeks, and neck, as though his own son is nothing more than garbage.

Zack walks away, a glazed look in his eyes that has nothing to do with the monster outside or even in the drains or anywhere in Derry except the one within himself.

Bill cries as his dad walks away, knowing already there are thin, red crescent moon shaped marks in his cheeks that only nails could leave behind. Not as pronounced or prominent as they would be if his mom had done it, her nails longer and less jagged than his dad's, but he knew it was going to leave marks for a while.

He wonders how he's supposed to hide these ones when Georgie's voice makes him jump.

"Bill?"

Scared. Georgie is _scared_. Partially because of the store incident but mostly because of what just happened. It sickens Bill to realize that Georgie saw all of that.

Yet Bill smiles at him. It is a genuine smile. The kind only Georgie is capable of making him have. Even just for a little bit.

"I call the left side."

It mostly works, the creature knows as it watches Bill take off the bloodied and torn jacket and even his shirt and throw them into the wash, also knowing that the boy was wondering how to fix both articles of clothing.

The creature looks down at its gloved hand as it touches its other hand to its own face, remembering Billy's soft touch and wondering...

 _Could_ **_I_** _make_ **_you_** _smile_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Sorry Bill. Getting to the Billwise is definitely taking time, isn't it?  
> \- Let me know how it was below! Thanks again everybody!  
> \- Chapter eleven is heading your way soon!  
> \- Honestly, I didn't even think I was going to be adding a song in this chapter. It actually happened while putting it into the archive lol  
> \- This was a lot longer than expected. A lot longer.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Comments are sweet! Thanks again everybody for all the comments and kudos!  
> \- Warning for the beginning of this chapter after Bill's "analysis". It gets really creepy. Crappy parenting, bad parenting. Warning for abuse  
> \- Movie references! Dreams induced by peaches... chocolate bars... I am very happy with my Creepshow 2 reference and my Freddy's Dead: The Final Nightmare reference. I had fun writing the Freddy's Dead one especially. There's more a coming!  
> \- Two VERY special guest stars in this chapter!  
> \- Let me know how it was in the comments below!

Bill almost envies Georgie at the moment.

He stares at his little brother's sleeping face, which is completely content and peaceful and Bill can tell that he is either having no dreams to bother him or is having pleasant ones. The fact that he's sucking his thumb makes Bill think it's the latter, though he does wonder if Georgie is actually just screwing with him to make him feel better about what happened tonight because every time Bill pulls Georgie's hand away from his mouth, his thumb popping out from between his lips, it goes right back into his mouth and he's certain Georgie smiles every time he does.

Bill does manage to smile every time he pulls Georgie's hand away and it goes right back. He's certain that it's Georgie's intention, to make him smile and to make him feel better. It's certainly working.

The moon is full, casting shadows into Bill's bedroom while countless stars glitter like pale diamonds in the dark sky. On Bill's dresser are his and Georgie's dolls. The moonlight makes their black button eyes shimmer and shine.

He always thought that the dolls were quite creepy considering the fact that they were perfect matches to their respective kid, with the same exact clothes that some of them had or were even wearing the day that they found them, like Georgie. He knew not all of the kids had been wearing the same exact clothes, however, such as Richie or even Eddie and himself, but still. He found it even more creepy now that he was comparing them to the shadow he had seen in the store.

The dolls both frown, looking quite hurt and regretful. Bill fails to notice this, however.

He sniffles as he holds his left elbow. First his dad bruises his right forearm and then he gets his left bicep slashed open. It was still astounding how the nurses hadn't noticed the bruises, unless they did and just didn't give a shit... they did seem pretty eager to get away from him at the hospital... one in particular giving his blood a queasy look... but he does recall another holding his bruised arm with gentle hands and an upset look in her eyes... what he fails to remember is that with both nurses, their eyes had flashed yellow when they saw his wounds...

The dolls are still frowning, but the hurt has disappeared. The guilt, however, has not.

Some part of Bill wanted to believe that it was all just bad dreams, that somehow he really had slipped or even tripped and stumbled and cut his arms on the metal shelves, but it just didn't add up. There were three shelves that had his blood dripping from the metal of them, but all three slashes were wider and the locations of them didn't line up to the shelves. Or the shape.

Even if he _had_ cut himself on the shelves, the slashes were in the wrong spots and lined up the wrong way. He would have had to have literally pressed his bicep against each shelf and sliced his arm open, each slice underneath each other. The slashes were also curved, like the claw marks from an animal. Not only that, but blood, _his_ blood, had splattered the bottles sitting on the shelves on the other side of the aisle. And he knew his arm hadn't been injured until after he fell to the ground, away from the bloodied shelves. He knew, with a sickening feeling, that it just wasn't possible.

He wondered if it meant anything and somehow related to the blood in Beverly's bathroom, some part of him was positive that it did, but he didn't really want to think about it. The thoughts just wouldn't leave him alone. As though something was urging him to think about it for a reason he just didn't understand. Bill just didn't want to because he had scared Georgie, which, he felt, was one of the worst things he could do as a big brother. He hadn't _meant_ to scare Georgie, certainly not intending on getting hurt himself, but he did.

Then there was the creature that had attacked him outside.

The frowns deepen, the identical looks of remorse still adorning their little faces.

Well, Bill thought, _attacked_ wasn't exactly a fair word to use. The creature hadn't technically hurt him until his dad had startled it and him... but the creature... it _had_ to be a person or just another bad dream. Whoever, whatever, it had been had _spoken_ , and it had felt like a person, the face he had touched. Not at all hairy or scaly or slimy or anything like what a monster's face would feel like, Bill thought.

Yet the strange lingering thought about that moment was about how _cold_ the flesh had felt beneath his fingertips.

He could have wrote it off as another bad dream and ignored it, but he couldn't do that either. He knew there was no way he had scratched his own side open, especially since the claws (because what else could have scratched him like that?) had cut through his dad's jacket, his own shirt, and tore into his side just above his hip.

The three scratches on his hip were not as deep as the ones on his arm, nor as wide and they were definitely much shorter, but they still stung underneath the medical path Bill had to put on the spot to cover the wound. He thinks he now knows how Ben feels. The only difference was that at least Ben knew it was Henry Bowers while Bill was left to wonder if he was going crazy or not.

Both situations sucked in his opinion.

It had all started after the incident with Patrick, the nightmare about him... though, a coldness washes over Bill like the iciest of tidal waves. Bugs crawl under his skin as serpents slither through his veins and it takes everything not to start protectively holding his private area again, his thighs starting to quiver and his knees quaking once more, as he feels and tastes bile rising in the back of his throat.

What if Patrick _wasn't_ a nightmare?

He hasn't seen Patrick since that last day of school, or since the supposed nightmare he'd had. But Bill doesn't know how it couldn't have been a bad dream since the TV was perfectly fine that morning and continues to remain fine, the trash cans were still standing... though he knows that second one doesn't matter very much if some stranger had passed by and felt like doing a good deed... but there had been no blood on him and the darkness had overtook him while he sat in the street staring at those red eyes... Bill had been in bed when he woke up, clean as a whistle... but the red eyes from the nightmare with Patrick and only an hour ago... those were the very same red eyes, weren't they?

The dolls still look remorseful, but now they appear quite nervous.

Bill continues to hold his elbow with one hand and holds his side with the other, feeling the pulsing of his wounds under his fingers and his palms. He feels sick.

They _have_ to be bad dreams because Bill can't imagine that there really is some kind of _monster_ \-- the hurt look on the faces of the dolls returns -- lurking within Derry, even though that would make more sense considering Patrick's fate in his nightmare -- Bill was hoping, even praying it was a nightmare -- and considering the fact that a lot of kids did tend to go missing in Derry. Especially this year.

Betty and Ed are just two out of quite a few, Bill knows. Yet in comparison to the bad events in Derry's history he had heard the others talking about at the quarry and had overheard Ben telling Beverly about, he knows that Derry's bad luck had dwindled greatly this year.

It nags at his thoughts, everything that has happened this night, the blood in Beverly's bathroom, and the nightmare about Patrick. Yet Bill knows that something else is amiss in Derry. Every 27 years, he remembers Ben saying back at the Summer Fair. Bad things have been happening now, like the missing kids, but Bill also knows that Richard Macklin went missing too, along with a few other adults.

He didn't know them personally and he barely knows the kids related to some of the adults, but Derry is a small town. Rumors spread and they spread fast. He knows that Richard Macklin was abusive to Ed and Dorsey, the latter who Georgie even said Macklin had almost hit him with a hammer until the nice clown had told him to put it down. Georgie hadn't specified if it was the same clown he had met or not, but had said that Dorsey had gotten his doll that day, which meant that it was, at the very least, a clown from the very same circus. Ed went missing not long after that, Bill knows. Betty before him and Bill does recall seeing a Missing Kid poster for a girl named Veronica.

The shininess of the button eyes gives the blackness of them a rather glassy look, a mimic of someone holding back their tears.

Bill sniffles and sighs. He sincerely doubts there really is a monster lurking in Derry. For all he knew, Patrick was just a really vivid, really messed up nightmare and Beverly's bathroom was plumbing gone horribly, horribly wrong, or some kind of gross prank by a plumber... the thing was, Bill had unfortunately become familiar with the smell of blood, his own blood to be precise, and recalls with a morbid sense of thought that the blood in Beverly's bathroom hadn't smelled like iron or copper, tangy and... he was missing something else, he was sure.

He wanted to believe them to be bad dreams because how the hell could there be a monster in Derry? A monster anywhere? Monsters weren't _real_. _Turtles_ were real.

The eyebrows on both dolls curve downwards, almost knitting together. The look of someone glowering, their expressions quite sour, though the glassiness of the button eyes remains.

For all Bill knew, the kids weren't really missing at all but instead had run away with the circus as Richie had suggested. Or even the clown, Robert or Pennywise, had helped them get out of shitty situations, as Georgie had said, less vulgarly but still, and their parents had declared them missing to save their own asses. Bill could believe that, but his own situation was still a glaring hole in his theory.

Patrick, nightmare or not (Bill hoping it was the former), the shadow, which could have been a hallucination caused from sleep deprivation, and somehow Bill had managed to slice open his arm on the uppermost shelf and the blood simply dripped down from shelf to shelf, minus the fact that he had three slashes on his arm instead of only one, and the fact that something had grabbed him outside of his house and scratched his side dug deep holes in his theories. Even without Patrick, the shadow and the creature outside weren't adding up.

Unless Bill was so sleep deprived because of his bad dreams and having such bad hallucinations, that he was unintentionally harming himself in a fit. That made sense, though Bill resented the mere idea of it. He loathed the mere idea of considering he was crazy and wondered if this was how Beverly had felt about the blood in her bathroom. Even the idea of unintentionally harming himself still didn't make any sense, because his fingernails were not long enough to do that kind of damage and the shelves still didn't add up. Only claws, the ones on the massive paws of large animals or the ones on the monstrous hands of literal monsters, could do that kind of damage to both his arm and his side.

Bill grumbles as he turns away from Georgie, his back facing his little brother, only to end up looking right at the dolls. He knows that its the point, but it is still creepy, how both dolls look just like himself and Georgie.

Both have shiny black buttons for eyes, both have yarn punched into their heads, brushed until it became thin and resembled actual hair, brown for Georgie and auburn for Bill. Georgie's doll has on a pair of blue jeans and galoshes and even the same yellow raincoat Georgie has, and Bill had seen that it was also wearing the same shirt Georgie had been wearing that day back in October. Bill's doll has the same white shirt with navy blue sleeves and the same pair of blue jeans and sneakers he does. Both are staring at him with little smiles on their faces.

He doesn't realize how forced those little smiles are. How nervous and _scared_ they really are.

Bill wants to pretend they're all just bad dreams, because that sounds a lot better than the alternatives. He's either losing his mind, or there really is some creature living in Derry that _ate_ Patrick and tried to eat Bill. Of course, that last one doesn't make much sense because what creature, except maybe Freddy Krueger, though he was a person before a dream monster, can have such red eyes or even button ones and take the form of a shadow or even have actual monster hands? The same one that had pulled Patrick into that storm drain? What creature can do that? Have different forms like that?

It was not lost on Bill that Patrick, nightmare or not, was pulled into that very same storm drain that Georgie had said he had met the clown in.

The real reason Bill wants to keep this information to himself, however, is because how the hell is he supposed to explain it to anyone and who the hell would believe him anyway? Even if his friends did, though he doubts it, except maybe Beverly, or even Georgie, he knew nobody else would. The adults especially. Not only that, but he had scared Georgie once by getting hurt in the first place. He wasn't going to scare him again with fairy tales about monsters in the shadows. It was bad enough that Georgie still often asked Bill to check under his bed and in his closet for monsters and he knew Georgie had checked under Bill's bed and in Bill's closet before climbing into Bill's bed.

Bill sighs. He thinks that if he ignores it hard enough, it will go away, the nightmares. He instead focuses on the thoughts about the circus and the mysterious clown character that everybody talks about, only a few people having actually seen the clown or a clown. Georgie and Dorsey and Eddie off of the top of his head. Georgie for Robert, Dorsey with an unspecified clown, and Eddie had seen both Robert and another clown, though also unspecified.

Georgie had given Bill his drawing of the clown, which, now that Bill thought about it, really had gotten smudged by the rainwater... but the clown wore a white suit instead of a brightly colored one, with red pompoms on the tips of his boots and three running down the front of his suit instead of oranges ones or even green or blue, with white ruffles around the neck and the wrists. Brown hair instead of brightly colored hair, his funny hair apparently gone because the storm blew it right off his head back in October, and little silver bells around his head. Bill remembered Georgie saying that he was certain he had heard jingling bells, Eddie too, actually, but neither had actually seen them, Georgie figuring them to be under the clown's ruffles.

And last, but not least, a red balloon in the clown's hand and Georgie's paper boat in the other.

Bill can write the missing kids off as the clown honestly having helped them get out of awful situations, Ed Corcoran especially, though he wonders about Betty because it seemed like her mom honestly cared about her, which was saying a lot when comparing her to his own mom, Bill thought bitterly. Then again, Bill hadn't known the Ripsoms personally either and for all he knew, Betty's mom could've had a dirty secret they didn't know about. One that made Betty want to run away.

He can write the nightmare about Patrick off as exactly that. A nightmare. He can imagine that the shadow was nothing more than a sleep-deprived hallucination, because ever since the nightmare about Patrick he hasn't been sleeping very well. He still has no intention of telling this to his dad, however. Because if there was one thing he had learned from horror movies, it was to never tell the adults about your problems, sleeping or other, unless you wanted to die before the end of the movie.

Torn between smirking and frowning, the mouths of the little dolls, because of the simple fact that Bill wasn't wrong.

Bill sighs again as he continues staring at the dolls and they stare right back.

He feels as though he's run a marathon, got hit by a truck, and mauled by an animal all in one. Those last two were not exactly understatements either, he thought grimly. He just hopes, that when the circus does officially open, it would be everything Georgie was hoping for. Though, Bill didn't exactly understand where the Oompa Loompas were supposed to come in... he was not looking forward to Georgie getting his hands on popcorn and chocolate, that was for sure. Cotton candy either.

Bill's stomach rumbles, quite loudly, with hunger and he feels the pangs of an empty stomach prickling his insides at the thought of food, even if it was the junk kind that Eddie said would kill your cholesterol, and Bill sighs once more. He knows he has to eat something or he's going to start dry heaving. He _hates_ it when that happens. He sits up, not really wanting to go downstairs into the kitchen but he is hungry.

"Will you grab me a peach?" Georgie's asks from right behind him.

Bill can't help but smile in amusement.

"W-w-wh-wuh-why... d-d-d-do you you s-still h-hu-huh-have your th-thumb in your mouth?"

Silence.

"Is that a no?"

Bill can't help but laugh as he gets up and even though he flinches from the dull throbbing pain in his side and his arm, he's still smiling at Georgie's antics, knowing perfectly well Georgie's mission of making him feel better was accomplished.

Yet the moment he steps outside of his bedroom, almost completely shutting the door behind himself, he feels that same feeling of being watched. Goosebumps prickle his skin as the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He frowns. He knows about the "Jumping at Shadows" phase, his case being quite literal, the thing that seems to linger the most when the nightmares don't. He just hopes that if anything else decides to jump out at him tonight, it's the creature with the red eyes instead of Patrick or that button-eyed shadow...

He wonders briefly if the reason he might've imagined the shadow having buttons for eyes was because his mind was twisting everything that was currently happening. Georgie's excitement for the circus, the nightmare about Patrick, though he was still unsure as to why he would have a nightmare like that in the first place, the dolls having button eyes, his mind hating him with every fiber of its own being... Bill figured that made sense.

He shivers from the coldness of the kitchen, the floor feeling like ice underneath his bare foot, shards prodding the sensitive flesh. His cheeks are still sore from his dad digging his fingernails into his flesh, and his chin is still throbbing from having his face almost tossed aside by his dad as though the man thought him as nothing more than trash or some kind of junkie.

Bill wasn't on drugs. He knew that and he also knew his dad didn't believe him. He just found it sad that his dad assumed that was the case, like a common, stereotypical, daresay cliche parent in any horror movie.

Bill's frown deepens as he opens the fridge, bending down to look inside and he squints as his eyes sting and burn from the brightness. He misses the eyes raking over his bent over form. Bill had not been able to escape putting away the groceries, even if he had use of only one arm and had limped most of the time. He was just grateful that Georige was sweet enough to help him.

His stomach rumbles again as he stares at the fruits and vegetables, seeing the peaches that Georgie had specifically asked for and wanted more than anything else. Even Lucky Charms. Bill thought it was funny, because it was usually a pain in the ass to get Georgie to eat his vegetables unless they were green beans. Bill shakes his head, his lips twitching into a faint smile, as he grabs two peaches. He doesn't think he can handle much, but he knows he needs something. At least they're sweet, he thinks.

What he wouldn't give for a pizza right about now, and the ability to actually stomach it.

He shuts the fridge and then jumps, nearly dropping both peaches, when he feels a large hand on his shoulder. His entire body seems to lock up, suddenly paralyzed, and everything goes completely cold, his nerves feeling both shot, blazing with an uncomfortable heat, while becoming stony and rigid with an arctic terror. His breath comes to a stutter as his chest heaves, another large hand finding its way to his _hip_. Bill whimpers in pain as the scratches on his side flare up, throbbing and pulsing.

He doesn't like the feeling of hands touching him.

He knows its his dad, but that isn't a relief. His fear is lessened because he knows it isn't some shadowy monster with buttons for eyes, but his discomfort and feelings of coldness become worse because someone is touching him weirdly like this. It's infinitely worse because _it's his dad_.

If his dad really wanted to comfort him after tonight's events, Bill knowing that is not at all his dad's intention, he would have a comforting hand on his shoulder and his other hand as far away from Bill's hip as humanly possible. Not only that, but there is nothing comforting about the hand on his shoulder.

It doesn't hurt -- yet, Bill thinks darkly -- but he doesn't like how his dad's fingers are brushing over his skin, just shy of rubbing the spot.

A growl echoes from the kitchen sink, not that Bill or even Zack notice.

"You scared the shit out of me, Bill."

Bill's eyes sting and burn as they start to water, his dad's hands _massaging_ his shoulder and his hip now. The familiar feeling of bugs crawling through his veins like the foulest of diseases returns full throttle, and Bill feels nauseous as his dad's fingertips brush over the spot where his thigh connects to his hip. The hand on his shoulder moves to hold his chin again, his dad's palm brushing against his throat as he digs his fingers into Bill's jaw. The other hand doesn't move.

The hand on his chin reminds him of the hand -- a hand that had felt _human_ to Bill, albeit very cold -- that had held his face outside. Only the hand of the creature had been gentle, almost shy even, as though fearful of hurting Bill. The boy knew this, though he didn't understand how, just as he knew for a fact that it really had been an accident, one, almost ironically, caused by his dad, that the creature outside had scratched him after giving a start.

Bill was certain he actually missed teh gentle hand of the creature outside when comparing its touch to his dad's...

"I'm s-s-s-s-sorry," Bill stutters.

Out of fear. Out of discomfort. Not his condition.

"Why do you keep lying to me, Bill?"

Bill's breathing become shaky again. He _isn't_ lying, but his dad just _won't_ believe him. He _knows_ this.

"I'm n-n-n-nuh-nuh-not," Bill says quickly, though his stutter halts his speech. His mouth falls open, a high-pitched, pained sound escaping him, when he feels his dad's fingers digging into his jaw and his chin... his hip too... he doesn't want to have to explain the bruises that are sure to be left on his face... "I... I h-h-ha-huh-haven't b-b-buh-buh-been s-sleeping... g-g-good... b-buh-bad d-d-druh-dreams..."

"Really?"

Low and husky. Almost gravelly. Hot breath tickles the back of Bill's neck and he doesn't feel too good, almost faint, when he feels his dad's chest pressing against his back.

He gives out a squeak of shock when he's suddenly pressed against the sink, his hips digging into the counter top, the handle of one of the drawers poking him in the thigh, the peaches slipping from his grasp and onto the counter. One hand grabs the spot where the sink connects to the cupboard, fingers gripping it until his knuckles turn white, and the other grabs his dad's wrist, the one connected to the hand on Bill's hip.

Bill is certain his face would be inches from the sink, if his dad wasn't holding his face and keeping him in that spot, the back of his head touching his dad's chest.

It's starting to hurt, but what Bill doesn't like the most is how _uncomfortable_ is dad is making him feel right now. He feels like a stranger in his own skin.

"That's the story you're going to go with?"

Bill trembles, tears streaming from his eyes and dripping from his chin, surely getting onto his dad's hand, though the man has no reaction to it, and he hesitantly nods. It's a hard thing, however, as his dad barely gives him any room to move around.

"I saw Georgie found your stupid little doll," Zack says quietly.

Bill feels like puking when he feels his dad's breath so close to his ear, having the disturbed feeling that his dad's lips were only inches away from it..

Bill can only wonder; What did he do wrong now?

He doesn't understand what could be so wrong with Georgie finding Bill's doll for the circus. His dad hadn't even given a crap when Georgie came home with his own doll in his hands, his ear trapped between the old lady's fingers. Bill hadn't realized his dad had actually paid somewhat attention, considering that was the day his dad found out about his mom's affair...

"How'd you pay for it? Where'd you get the money?"

"Th-th-they're f-f-f-fuh-fuh-free d-d-dad..."

It's the _truth_.

"Th-th-they p-p-p-puh-puh-pop up r-r-randoml-ly," Bill says, trembling as his dad presses him further against the kitchen counter.

A pained and confused and terrified sob wants to break free when his upper half is pressed firmly against his dad's chest, his hips digging painfully into the cupboard, and his toes are barely brushing against the floor, his dad almost holding him in the air and his hands on Bill are _hurting_ him.

A flash of red light reflects from down the drain of the kitchen sink...

"Then why did Georgie say he got his from that clown? What's his name? Pennywinkle?"

Bill is certain he tried to shrug, but his dad's grips on him tighten. Painfully.

"I d-d-don't kn-kn-nuh-nuh-know," Bill says _truthfully_. "He s-s-said he m-muh-met him when -r-running with his b-boat..."

"The same day your whore mother showed her true colors," Zack hisses.

Bill is sure his dad's teeth are gritted as he spits out that sentence. He feels immensely, infinitely uncomfortable when he feels his dad's thighs against the back of his own, unfortunately certain that was his dad's _groin_ against his backside... He jerks, frightened, when he feels his dad's fingers digging into his jaw again, forcing his lips to part again, but his dad's thumb brushes over his lower lip...

Another growl echoes from down the drain, louder than the first, definitely closer... both of them miss it.

"So that fucking clown was in the store, was he?"

"Y-y-y-yes?"

It's more of a question than an actual answer. Bill hadn't actually seen the clown before his... _accident_. He hadn't really seen anyone else in the store except those two clerks, the teenage girl and the elderly man, the third one didn't really count because he, or she, had disappeared between the aisles after Bill had given him, or her, a passing glance and Bill hadn't seen that one when he'd hurt himself...

Bill jerks again, jumping slightly, not that he moves much, when he feels his dad's hand massaging his hip again. It feels like his skin has become the bugs, creeping and crawling against his bones... he whimpers fearfully as he feels his dad's hand going up his side, massaging it... almost caressing it... before going right back down to his hip...

Bill feels as though he's about to pass out from shock and horror, his stomach and legs turning to lead when he feels his dad's hand brushing against the waistband of his pajama bottoms, his dad's hand inches away from brushing over _his groin_ , his dad's thumb toying with the strings to his pajamas... the nightmare about Patrick flashes in his mind's eye as his eyes widen and his pupils expand.

Familiar. The unwanted, unpleasant touch...

Different. It wasn't Patrick but _his own dad_...

Familiar. The crippling, icy -- _arctic_ \-- feeling...

 _Terror_.

"Did you --"

An angry -- enraged -- growl, just shy of a furious roar, all but explodes out of the sink, sounding inches away, Bill not missing it this time and giving a frightened start, though his dad doesn't notice and isn't at all swayed.

Instead, what the both of them jump at is the sudden sound of the TV turning on and that very same channel with that very same show is playing, where the woman is cheerfully talking about the circus while all of the kids talk happily about it and the clown as well, in the background.

"The fuck?"

Bill uses the moment of his dad's shock to slip away from his grasp, both of which had lessened because of the start his dad had given. Bill jerks when he gets a glimpse of the sink and something down the drain, on accident, and sees a _**red eye** staring right back at him_.

He grabs the peaches, ignoring both the eye and his dad, and tries to slip away.

He cries out in pain when he feels a hand grabbing his hair, his scalp flaring with pain that reminds him horribly of that night with Patrick. Fingers dig in _painfully_.

His hands fly up to dislodge his dad's hands, a peach in each one of his hands, but the woman's words make him freeze.

"And you will too, Henry!"

Both of them turn at the sentence. There is a grin on her face. A grin that even Bill can tell is so forced that it is honestly, genuinely _painful_.

"Make it a wonderful day!" she says, sounding quite cheerful.

Bill almost envies her.

The woman looks at the screen, seemingly looking at the cameraman and directly at the camera. She isn't, not really, not that either of them know that.

"Bill..." Zack says quietly, his pale eyes almost glowing in the darkness. "... stop lying to me..."

"I'm not!" Bill says honestly. "I d-d-d-didn't see P-P-P-Puh --"

Frustrated tears join in the terrified ones.

"Puh-puh-puh-puh," Zack stutters mockingly.

It feels like a knife stabbing him between his ribs to hear _his own father_ make fun of his stutter, mock him for it. Bill didn't _fucking ask for it_.

Bill doesn't understand what is really going on through Zack's mind right now. The theory his dad has conjured up in his perverted thoughts about how Bill really got his doll. And perhaps, his thoughts make him think that Bill is also the real reason Georgie got his doll from the clown, too. Why else would they be _free_? Monetarily. Zack thinks darkly. Bill doesn't understand this, however. How could he?

He still doesn't understand why his dad was touching him _like that_.

The pipes in the walls, namely in the kitchen sink, though the bathroom sink does join in, rattle angrily. Both sinks soon join in, rattling against the walls. Then the microwave, and then the fridge and the contents within it.

Zack leans closer to Bill, bending slightly so that his lips are just shy of touching Bill's ear, something that makes him deeply uncomfortable. The boy trembles and shivers at the feeling of breath ghosting over his skin once more.

"If I find out you've been lying to me, you're going to fucking regret it."

And he lets go of Bill's hair and walks away, almost storming as he does. As though he's the one suffering for it.

Bill's lip quivers as he starts to sob. The woman's forced grin dies and turns into a sympathetic frown that quickly turns into a livid scowl as she seemingly glares at the side of the TV, as though trying to see where his dad had walked away too. Bill doesn't hesitate to go back upstairs, trying his hardest not to start running, mostly as to not startle Georgie, as his brain tries to comprehend what just happened. He tries his hardest not to slam his bedroom door shut and hopes he was quiet in locking it...

"Bill?"

In the living room, the woman is glaring down at her hands, which are slowly changing. Her fingers are growing longer, her teeth sharpening, her dark eyes turning a furious shade of scarlet as her hands turn into monster hands. Claws black as obsidian, hands larger than those belonging to even the biggest of human men, contorting and stretching. Bones crackle and pop, like the sound of cracking knuckles. Her face slowly turns white, as though an invisible hand is applying makeup... her lips become red, equally red lines running from the corners of her mouth up her cheeks and they continue to run up her face until they stop just above her eyebrows, faintly resembling the facial marks of a cheetah.

Her hair loses its bouncy curls and flattens itself against her head, the hair just above her shoulders shrinking back into her head, though it retains its dark brown color.

"Not yet..." man's voice growls as her lips move, "... too soon..."

"Kill him," the children say together right behind the woman as she morphs into a clown.

A male one.

Blood red pompoms pop out on the front of her dress, which quickly changes into a clown suit. White as snow, dirtied and fraying at the seams slightly. Starched white ruffles around the neck and the sleeves. Not at all the kind of clown suit for bringing joy and spreading cheer. The kind that instills terror and strikes fear. When used for that purpose.

"Kill him. Kill him."

They're chanting those two words as the clown glowers at his hands. The children are also glowering, for the very same reason as the clown. Disgust is clear as day, clear as crystal, on all of their faces. The clown growls, low and dangerous. Predatory. Furiously.

"Kill him. Kill him."

" ** _Soon_**..."

The TV shuts itself off. A single crack suddenly shoots across the entire screen, resembling a lightning bolt that itself resembles a distorted hand. Blood leaks out of the cracks in the TV screen as well as out of the bottom of it, dripping out from between the buttons and splashing to the floor. It and the cracks will be gone before any of the Denbroughs see it, the creature knows, but there is a point to be made.

A method to the creature's madness.

" ** _Soon_**..."

Bill sighs, his breath shaking, as he steps away from his bedroom door, having propped his desk chair underneath the doorknob. It won't do much good if his dad kicks the door down, he knows, but it's _something_. He knows Georgie is confused, maybe even scared again, but it can't be helped now.

"I have the p-p-p --"

Bill scowls, tears of hurt leaking from the corners of his eyes, which have already become red-rimmed and puffy, glassed over. His cheeks are red and stained with tears.

"What happened?"

"Nothing," Bill says quietly, though quickly, lying through his teeth.

He quickly wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand and crawls back into bed, handing Georgie one of the peaches. While his little brother does take it, the concerned look on his little face is enough to know that he is not going to stand for Bill not answering his question.

"It's n-nuh-nuh-nothing G-G-G-Guh-Georgie," Bill lies.

"You're lying," Georgie says quietly, but not meanly.

Bill sighs, sniffling, as he stares at his knees. He is sitting on his bottom, his thighs pressed against his chest and his chin propped up against his knees, his arms wrapped around his legs to hold them close, an upset look in his glassy eyes, his peach in one hand. His face holds a look of pure confusion and raw terror. A sense of foreboding lingers in the air like a foul smell.

Georgie understands that there are some things that Bill doesn't like to talk about. He understands that his dad is angry a lot more, since their mom left, and understands that his dad must have had another angry moment with Bill. Ever since mom had left home, back after a big fight between her and dad, Bill has been doing the things she used to do, like cooking and cleaning and even grocery shopping, and dad has been angrier. With Bill, mostly. Georgie does understand this.

He remembers his mom's last words to him before she had left all those months ago.

"I love you and Bill, Georgie, but this is something I have to do," his mom had said after his dad had been forced to sign some papers, the day before she had left. "When you're older, you'll understand. I need you to be a big boy for me."

Georgie was pretty sure he didn't have to be older to understand that their mom wanted to go on fun adventures outside of the little town they lived in, and he certainly didn't have to be older to understand that she wanted to go with that other man she had been with that day he had met Pennywise in October. The one his dad had been really angry with. She didn't want to go on those adventures with their dad, she didn't want to go with Bill, and she certainly didn't want to go with Georgie.

Georgie doesn't really know what it means, to be a big boy, but he wonders if that means having your dad constantly angry with you and that's why Bill counted as a big boy. Unless being a big boy meant accepting how much older you were getting, and Bill was older than he was.

Georgie doesn't think he'd like to be a big boy if that's really the case, and he doesn't find it very fair that when someone gets to be Bill's age, they are forced to act as big boys. Just as they are most likely forced to face their dad's anger. Georgie doesn't know if everyone's dad is like that, but he knows that Henry and Dorsey know better than he does. He's certain that Henry, more than him, knows how Bill must be feeling.

Georgie doesn't miss her very much, their mom. Maybe it is because his childlike mind has yet to fully comprehend what exactly she has done, to him, to Bill, and their family, or maybe he just doesn't care. Billy has been a better parent to him than she ever was, anyway.

He remembers when he hugged Henry back at the Barrens after the rock fight, and how Henry had made a mean comment about how she had abandoned them. Georgie wonders if that's true, and then supposes that's why their dad is so angry. Because she left them, left her responsibilities as a mom, and left him to be the only parent. Georgie just doesn't understand how his dad can make it Bill's fault, because it seems like that's what their dad thinks, but he just doesn't understand how that can work because even he knows it isn't Bill's fault.

He remembers telling Henry that when someone needs a hug, they deserve all the hugs they need and want until they feel better. Bill looks like he needs one too, looking even worse than Henry did after the rock fight... and Henry had been bleeding... but something makes Georgie ask first, not that he understands what it is...

"Can I hug you?"

Bill looks startled at the question, as though he can't understand why Georgie is asking instead of simply doing it. Then he looks guilty.

Bill's lip quivers and his eyes burn as he understands that Georgie isn't as childishly naive as he thought... and he feels guilty for ever thinking so and even more guilty because Georgie wants to make him feel better... and he does feel better because of Georgie... He holds the tears in even as he hugs Georgie and Georgie hugs him back.

Bill's stomach ruins the moment by rumbling with hunger, though Bill does let out a watery laugh as Georgie pokes him in the stomach.

Bill sighs as he watches Georgie sit up and eat his peach with a happy expression on his face. He takes a small bite of his own, wishing all of this could be part of some big intricately woven nightmare along with the incident at the store, but Bill knows it isn't. He supposes that even though things are shit now, at least Georgie is safe and still somehow one of the sweetest kids Bill has ever known. He feels lucky to know that he, out of all of the kids in Derry, maybe in the world, gets to be Georgie's big brother.

The acidic tang coupled with the sweet taste of his peach, the juice staining his teeth, and the delighted look on Georgie's face makes the awfulness of this entire night worthwhile, Bill thinks.

Sleep comes easier, though Georgie, even asleep, still clings onto Bill's pinky finger, the one attached to his uninjured arm, as though it's the most valuable thing in the world to him, and Bill's dreams are much more pleasant than usual. Bill's lips part as he stares up at the ceiling. Everything feels funny to him... yet better somehow... everything is spinning as his eyelids flutter... his limbs feeling fluttery... tingly...

He feels as though he's _floating_...

The blue of his eyes are glassy, though not at all teary, not anymore, and instead are rather glazed over with a sort of dreamy expression. Bill closes his eyes...

"Everything dancing..."

For the first time in a long time, Bill's dreams are his own... not at all nightmarish... yet they are still so _otherworldly_...

He dreams of crystal balls spinning together in a gloved hand. A second gloved hand, both of them pure snowy white, grabs one of the crystal balls from between the twirling fingers of the first hand and a long arm stretches out, holding the ball at arms length. Red lips blow the ball away, the crystal becoming soap as it starts to float. The ball becomes a bubble. A second ball is taken from the twirling fingers and is also blown away, crystal becoming soap and the ball becoming a bubble... A third...

Bill sees, through his own eyes, where he sits, propped up against a tree in the middle of the woods -- not the Barrens, his hazy thoughts tell him -- and he sees, inches from his face, three bubbles floating before him. He blinks and his eyelids flutter, his vision blurry. He blinks a second time.

In the middle bubble, he sees the doll that resembles himself standing in its shiny depths. The fabric of the doll's skin becomes actual flesh. The yarn on the doll's head becomes hair. Black button eyes turn blue and become human eyes...

It changes.

The doll becomes Bill, standing somewhere with a curious look on his face and his clothes are different.

When Bill dreams, he dreams of dancing. It reminds him of a ball, kind of like the royal one in Cinderella, only everyone is wearing masks on their faces. Some are rather creepy, one in particular resembling an owl's face, a dull white coloring, and Bill will remember that feeling of being watched. Their masks are strange, dimly colored rather than bright, that owl-faced one watching him, with other strange shapes that also vaguely resemble birds and otherworldly creatures that Bill knows, somewhere deep down, the names of, but can't quite recall.

A dream he can reach but not quite hold.

Yet the thing that will stick out, more than anything, though not nearly as much as the man in the clown mask, will be the button eyes on all of the dancers. Except the man with the clown mask.

The mysterious otherworldly existence of the dream entices him. As does the man in the clown mask with those glowing eyes staring at him from the holes in the mask. Yet Bill knows that the eyes themselves are mere masks as well...

In his sleep, Bill trembles. Not out of fear, however. Only a morbid curiosity.

In his sleep, Georgie twitches and fidgets. Not out of fear, however. Only a childish curiosity.

He smiles as he dreams pleasant dreams about a turtle, a sea turtle, not a regular turtle, swimming through the vast expanse of outer space, gliding through a world -- or perhaps _worlds_ \-- of never ending stars and planets. Swimming through walls of glass that seem to hold the shapes of cubes, each cube holding a set of stars and planets, as though they weren't at all barriers to her and she could find her way to the next world -- or _worlds_ \-- as she swam across galaxies.

Georgie will remember this dream, and he will remember the very pretty turtle in it. Georgie will think later, she was definitely one of the coolest turtles ever. Especially with all of the eggs attached to her shell, large as planets though nowhere near as large as her -- she herself could've made up an entire galaxy -- glittering like diamonds, shiny like pretty stones, yet all while resembling the whitest, purest of pearls.

In a way the young boy doesn't understand, he knows this turtle is trying to find something. Or maybe she's trying to find _someone_.

Bill wakes up, hours later, feeling better than he had since that last day of school. Since October, actually. Well rested, having a sleep with no screaming nightmares that would haunt him like the meanest of ghosts or infect him like the nastiest of plagues.

The morning sun peeks in through his window, warming the room. Bill feels better than he did last night, that's for certain.

He can't help but smile at the feeling of Georgie's leg around his own, his little arms wrapped around Bill's uninjured one even in his sleep, the younger boy holding onto him like a lifeline, though the image Bill's mind conjured up was that Georgie was a persistent, cuddly koala that was refusing to let go.

"I kn-kn-nuh-know y-you're aw-w-wake G-G-Guh-Georgie," Bill says, still smiling.

"That's beside the point."

Bill doesn't have to look over to know that Georgie is smiling smugly.

Breakfast is decent, Bill thinks. His dad had already left for work and Georgie at least eats something other than Lucky Charms. Another peach and overly buttered toast (it is beyond Bill why Georgie decides to put the butter on both slices of toast) but Bill can't fault him for the first one. He's eating a peach himself, though that's all he eats.

Or, at the very least, that's all he _tries_ to eat.

"Aren't you hungry?" Georgie asks curiously, his mouth smeared with butter from his toast and juice from his peach, his teeth already stained with the latter. Again.

"N-N-No," Bill says truthfully.

He is but he isn't. He still doesn't like the sensation of creeping, crawling bugs on his flesh, as though his skin is the creeping crawling bugs that are touching his bones, a remnant of last night's events with his dad and the potential sleep deprived hallucinations, and because of this he doesn't feel very hungry, but he is able to stomach a little bit.

He thinks that's all he needs.

Georgie, however, seems to think differently if the scrunching of his little nose is anything to go by, and the fact that he gets out of his chair, opens the fridge, digs out a peach, and puts it into Bill's hand after washing it off in the sink, his eyes narrowed with a look that says, quite clearly, "Eat this and don't argue with me."

And Bill thought he was the responsible one in the house... He shakes his head, smiling.

"When do you think the circus will open?" Georgie asks curiously.

"I d-d-do-don't kn-kn-nuh-know," Bill says truthfully.

The TV is on. The cracks and the blood are gone, but the woman and the children are the same. All of the children have the happiest looks on their faces, but none of them even compare to the sheer delight on the woman's face.

"COME ONE, COME ALL!" the woman says cheerfully along with the children, their voices in perfect sync that one would imagine they were only one person instead of a bunch.

Bill and Georgie both turn to look.

"He left the TV on?" Bill asks curiously.

Georgie just shrugs, not really caring. He likes this channel and the show on it. The woman beams. Bill honestly doesn't care much himself, but he doesn't trust his dad not to get mad at him because he also chose to leave the TV on or ended up forgetting to turn it off.

"WELCOME TO THE FREAKSHOW!"

Loud music suddenly blares through the speakers, definitely rock music, the woman grinning almost with a wicked sort of delight, until a child walks up behind her, seemingly appearing out of nowhere at all, a strange expression on her very tiny face.

She has ginger hair and blue eyes, Bill sees.

The little girl, who looks no older than a toddler, maybe even a little younger than that, dressed in a clown suit that reminds Bill instantly of Pennywise, her face painted the very same, lips and nose and red lines and all, gestures for the woman to lean down and she does, her ear inches away from the little girl's nose as the girl whispers something. The woman frowns, her eyes widening with shock, and then she pouts.

Neither Bill nor Georgie realize that behind that pout is worry.

Fear.

"We'll be right back after these important messages!"

The child turns towards the TV and waves as the woman walks off the screen, the other children also walking away until she's the only one left on the screen. The way she waves is the same way anyone would wave when they know they're on live TV and they want to send a message. The little girl grins. It is beyond astounding how much the grin reminds Bill of Georgie.

Childish. Happy.

"Hiya, Uncle George! Hiya, Mama!"

The screen changes into a cartoon.

"Does that mean the circus is open?"

Bill can't help but smile at the excitement in Georgie's voice, seeing a shine to his eyes. One of pure hope.

"I g-g-g-guess there's only one w-w-w-way to f-f-fuh-find out," Bill says, smiling. "B-B-But you have t-to b-br-brush your t-teeth f-fi-fur-first."

Georgie looks at him with an expression of utmost betrayal. Bill just points upstairs, clearly telling him to go and brush his teeth, and Georgie grumbles under his breath as he goes.

"She looked like Penynwise," Bill hears him murmur as he disappears up the stairs.

Bill can't exactly disagree, though he hasn't actually seen the clown in person. The same Victorian styled outfit, white as snow with red pompoms, though she only had the ones on her little, very tiny, shoes and only one on her front, but the same starched ruffles around her neck and on her sleeves and the very same makeup, white grease paint on her face and red decorating her face. The style was even the same.

Bill puts the dishes into the sink and grimaces at the memory of last night, the unwanted, unpleasant feeling of his dad's hands on his hips and his face, his dad's chest against his back... his hand drifting way too close to _that place_ for Bill's comfort... Bill shook his head. He doesn't want to think about it, but he does, his brain clearly fighting with him, and he can't help but compare it to Patrick.

Bill knew, very grimly, that last night was not at all a nightmare. The dull throbbing in his arm and his side and his face and even his hip are evidence of that, and because his bedroom stunk of peaches and Georgie had accidentally gotten juice on Bill's blanket, or maybe that was Bill, he wasn't sure, but that only made his unease worse. The nightmare -- Bill _refused_ to believe it _wasn't_ a nightmare -- about Patrick was worse because Patrick had touched him there but the discomfort _his own dad_ had brought him made his skin _crawl_.

His only question was: Why the hell would _his dad_ do something like that?

He sighs as he washes the butter and crumbs from Georgie's plate. He misses the two little girls on the screen, sitting on the bleachers where the children with the woman usually sat on. One little girl is the one that waved at the screen, the other is a brunette in a baggy, brightly colored jumpsuit with purple and teal accents on the sleeves, ruffles around her neck, white on the top and the bottom with a purple and teal striped ruffle in the middle, and her face is also painted white, but only her lips are red and there's a red ball on her nose, unlike the ginger-haired toddler. Her eyes are bluish green.

They're sharing whispers, giggling like two gossiping schoolgirls sharing a conspiracy as the TV shuts itself off.

Georgie ends up calling Richie and Eddie, Stan and Mike, and Ben and Beverly, to tell them Bill got his doll for the circus, and he saw a message on the TV. To Bill's surprise, but not at the same time, the others had all seen the TV too.

It's the afternoon when Bill and Georgie, riding on Sivler, meet up with the rest of the Losers, all of them with their respective dolls, at the quarry. All eight of them are wearing the exact same clothes as their dolls. Beverly, however, has the button key from her doll tied around her necklace, resting on her chest next to her house key.

Of course, the question is unavoidable.

"Where'd you get yours?"

It's both Eddie and Beverly who ask the unavoidable question, one out of suspicion and the other out of pure curiosity. Mike, however, is giving Bill strange looks. So is Beverly, actually.

"At the grocery store," Georgie answers or him. "I found it in the shopping cart."

"Did you see him?" Eddie asks quickly, looking faintly annoyed but also very curious. "I swear, Richie's doll did not pop up until after I turned away but how... how would that even work?" he asks, his annoyance overtaking his curiosity.

Bill guesses it's because the unanswered questions are bothering him, too. Eddie just has less patience than he does.

"I didn't even hear him put it in the machine. I would have seen him! But I know that bastardw as hiding in there!"

All eight dolls smirk faintly at that, looking quite amused.

"N-No," Bill says truthfully as Georgie shakes his head. "W-W-We d-d-didn't s-s-suh-see the c-clown."

Bill briefly wonders if the third clerk that he only saw for that brief second was actually the one who had put his doll into the shopping cart, which he supposes makes sense, but he still did not see that clerk when his arm was... He lowers his eyes. Both Mike and Beverly notice.

"You okay, man?" Mike asks, almost hesitantly.

He's had looks similar to what Bill is currently holding. He shares a look with Beverly, and understands that she too has felt whatever kind of fear it is that Bill is currently feeling. He's had the same kind of terror from seeing his burning parents, in his nightmares and in that alley, as well as having to put the sheep down... and the sheep in the alley...

Beverly knows that Bill and Mike have had similar experiences to her. She knows, deep down, that Mike has seen something bad, too, but isn't sharing that information. It's almost strange to realize that Mike wasn't even there when they all cleaned up the blood... Georgie and Richie had just been outside... Mike wasn't there at all...

But her point is that she thinks she understands exactly what Bill is feeling. She has a hunch about Patrick Hockstetter, but if he's really gone missing, _who_ is it that Bill is afraid of now?

She thinks she knows the answer, because its the same one for her.

"F-F-Fuh-fine," Bill says, smiling in a way that makes his cheeks hurt.

"Bill got hurt," Georgie says bluntly.

Bill sighs as Eddie's annoyed expression turns to extreme worry. Strangely, both Beverly and Mike share similar expressions, though its clear the looks on their faces are empathetic. Ben is staring at him with a similarly empathetic expression, just for a different reason.

Ben doesn't know that Beverly and Mike are more aware of what is really bothering Bill.

Bill isn't mad at Georgie for telling them. He knows it's just because he's concerned, but getting hurt isn't something he wanted to share. Especially with Eddie.

"You don't mean..." Stan says hesitantly, "... the clown didn't...?"

The dolls look aghast at the mere idea, though the Losers fail to notice.

The scratches had been an _accident_.

"N-no," Bill says quietly. "I...I just f-f-fell."

"In the store or on the ground? I mean, both places are extremely dirty and God only knows what kind of filth... from shoes and the outside..."

Eddie starts to go into a rant, Bill stops him.

"It's fine," Bill says, swallowing slightly. His eyes feel stingy again. Though he his humbled to know he has friends that care about his well-being. Eddie especially. "I just c-cut m-m-muh-my arm."

He neglects to inform them, mostly Eddie, that he also hurt his side. He doesn't miss, however, the fact that Beverly and Mike are giving him a look of knowing, which means that they know he's keeping something out. Neither push him, however.

The dolls frown, looking remorseful once more.

"So you guys also got the creepy message on the TV?" Richie asks.

"The one with the lady and the clown kids?" Mike asks.

What all eight of them fail to realize is that their TV screens, for once, were not exactly the same when on that channel and that show. Mike's version is that both little clown girls on the TV, especially the ginger-haired one after she had whispered something to the hostess, had started glaring at the screen. The brunette had shown up after her, and both had started glaring at the screen, as though glaring at the camera man, but the way they had done it, the way their eyes had hardened and narrowed threateningly, though both were so tiny, looking barely the age of toddlers, had seemed like they were staring -- glowering -- directly at him.

Mike knows that's just silly thinking, maybe even his paranoia and his nightmares getting to him, since the little girls couldn't have actually known he was there or even who he was... right?

Either way, in Mike's version, both little girls had glowered at the screen, as though staring directly at him, when he had been watching the show on his grandfather's old TV. He was also quite sure the blue of the ginger-haired one's eyes had flashed yellow, a warning sign if ever there was one. That was part of the reason why he was certain it was just his mind playing mean tricks on him again.

"That's the one," Richie says.

Richie's version was two little girls giggling and whispering, though for a reason he didn't know. He was sure one of the words they had muttered to each other was "Shipoopi" though he had no idea as to why.

"Y-yeah, w-w-we s-s-saw it," Bill says.

It struck him as odd that the little ginger-haired girl said, "Hiya, Uncle George" when Georgie was in the kitchen... he had no idea why, since George was a pretty common name... kind of like Benjamin and William... right?

"Does that mean the circus is open?" Georgie asks them curiously, as though one of them will be able to answer whereas Bill could not.

"Only one way to find out," Richie says, "I nominate Eddie as my human shield."

Eddie just shakes his head, exasperated, and rolls his eyes as they start peddling their bikes back towards town, Georgie clinging onto the back of Bill's shirt.

"I mean, I really hope he's got everything up to code, better than Ben's clubhouse," Eddie says quickly, ranting again. "No offense, Ben."

"None taken," Ben says dryly and Beverly laughs.

He smiles at the sound of her laughter.

"I mean, Neibolt... it's frigging street... everything is just so dirty and disgusting... You've all seen what that house looked like before he moved into it," Eddie says, shuddering.

"Like the perfect scene to a horror movie," Richie says.

"Exactly. All the... maggots... dead animals... dirty needles... lepers... corroded wood... rot..."

"Will you stop it?" Bill snaps, not even stuttering.

Georgie does not need to hear about that.

"I am trying to warn you about potential health code violations!" Eddie snaps right back. "That house is infinitely more dangerous than Ben's clubhouse, I am serious!" Eddie says, unhappy with how little Bill seems to care about health code violations. Especially since the place is supposed to be catering to children. "I mean, out of all of the places in Derry to build your circus, why the hell would you pick Neibolt?"

"Maybe he just wanted to listen to you complain," Beverly says, smiling.

"Oh, shut up! If I see a fucking unicorn, I am going to freak out," Eddie snaps.

The dolls all share a grin at that.

It is both surprising, and not at the same time, to see almost every single kid from school, in their grade as well as above and below, Georgie's grade and even younger, some with their older siblings, standing outside of Neibolt, which still has the white sheets flapping in the wind. Surprisingly, there are all kinds of railings to park their bikes, and the Losers explicitly leave theirs at one with seven open spaces.

"St-stay c-c-close G-G-G-Guh-Georgie," Bill says, grabbing hold of Georgie's hand.

He isn't very surprised to see Richie grab hold of Eddie's hand, though it is interesting to see Beverly grab Ben's, the boy's chubby cheeks turning pink as he smiles jovially (Bill pretty sure Ben was smiling at him rather smugly, though he had no idea why), while Stan and Mike stick close, though both look quite awkward.

All of them are clearly afraid of getting lost, especially when they see Belch and Vic, Connor and Henry, all standing in the crowd together, their own dolls in their respective hands. Bill isn't very surprised to see that Henry's doll also has a mullet, though he is surprised to see a large, deep purple bruise on the side of his face. It's not surprising to see Bowers glaring at anyone who stares for too long, near murderous intent in his eyes.

Gretta is standing a few feet away from them, surrounded by her girl friends, a large, deep brown bruise on her chin and cheek as she glares metaphorical daggers at Beverly and Ben, a vicious scowl on her face.

"Is it open yet?" Bill hears a little boy ask through the chattering of the crowd.

He recognizes the boy as Dorsey Corcoran, who is holding his own doll. He looks quite curious, but also quite lonely. Bill understands why, because Ed isn't with him.

All of the kids are standing on the lawn, some in the street something Eddie mutters unhappily about because of the dangers involved if car passes by and somehow _doesn't_ see the "shitload" of kids, teenagers and younger, in the street. Not one of them, not even Bowers or Belch or even Vic or even Bowers' cousin, dare pull the sheets.

Every single one of them, however, jumps when a loud, high-pitched, almost maniacal laugh, that of a man, echoes from the house and travels all the way across the yard and even into the street. The dolls are all grinning, every single one of them, as the dolls jump back. The white sheets, as though held up by large, invisible hands, and then suddenly let go by the same hands, drop to the ground, flapping and fluttering as they do, nearly falling onto Eddie, who is the one that jumps back the farthest, and the house itself...

Bill stares with surprise and he isn't the only one. Everyone else looks disappointed, maybe even upset. Georgie, however, is waiting with bated breath, an excited grin on his little face.

The house doesn't look any different than before Robert "Bob" Gray or Pennywise the Dancing Clown had moved in.

The same cracked and broken and dirt and grime covered windows. The same dirtied, stained, and rotted wood, bits splintered way from the porch and even the foundation, which was corroded to hell. Torn and tattered, almost completely shredded, curtains can be seen swaying in the breeze on the inside of the house. The only differences Bill noticed were the lights flashing from between the curtains, brightly colored, red and blue, pink and green, orange and white, and the _smell_ of the house.

No longer did it smell like old house rot and dead animal stink. Instead it smelled of food and sweets, though Bill was certain he was the only one who felt nauseous because of those smells.

The salty smell of peanuts, the sweet smell of cotton candy, the stink of hotdogs, and the sweet and salty, buttery and good smell of popcorn. He saw Georgie grinning right next to him, anticipation on his little face.

"That's _it_?"

It's Connor Bowers who asks this question, Bill sees. He guesses that's the boy with the blond curly hair, the blue eyes, and the dirty expression on his face that matches his cousin almost disturbingly. There are a few disappointed murmurs and even a few mocking giggles.

"I want you all to know," a voice says suddenly, just barely above a whisper and yet they all hear it. Every single one of them fails to realize it's because the little mouths on the dolls are moving as actual lips and the voice is speaking from them. "I find your fickleness quite hurtful."

Georgie is still grinning as he stares up at the house, the rest of the kids in Derry sharing surprised and curious looks. None of them are actually looking at the house anymore. Not even the Losers. Nowhere in sight was an actual adult.

That was a disappointing, almost depressing, statement, _someone_ thought.

"And more so, very predictable."

Bill jerks when Georgie pulls on his arm, gritting his teeth and hissing with pain as the slashes in his arm flare up with pain, though he knows that it isn't at all Georgie's intention to hurt him. He looks to see his brother pointing eagerly at the house and he looks up, his eyes widening and he blinks, almost stupidly, when he realizes that the house isn't at all run down and dirty (a standing infection, as he heard Eddie mutter) and is instead standing tall and almost proud before them. It wasn't even a house anymore, but a mansion.

Queen Anne styled, the walls painted pink with black shingles on the roofs, one part of the mansion looking like the top of a tall tower, the house accented with whit around its windows and on its porch. Bill couldn't help but notice there were quite a few windows, not that he could actually see inside even though he was positive there were no curtains or even blinds on the inside. The black of the shingles, like obsidian, strangely complimented the pink of the walls and the white of the porch and the white around the windows. Bill saw a chimney, black as the shingles, on the far side of one of the roofs.

"You all going to keep standing there or show me your tickets?"

On the porch, just next to the door, stood a man in a small ticket booth that looked to be pressed right against the wall and Bill guessed that was how the man was supposed to get in and out... but he hadn't even seen the man a second ago... even when he realized that the old house of Neibolt was a pink mansion...

The ticket booth is green with white lining, a small hole in the glass where the man's face was at, the man himself looking to be middle-aged with thin but round, black glasses on his face, gray hair flecking the sides of his head, sticking out underneath his hat. He wore a long sleeved, pure white, button-up shirt with a green apron over it and a black bow tie on his neck.

On his shoulder, perched like a bird, was a red bat-like creature with a demonic face and demonic horns with yellow eyes that had no irises and no pupils, with large, bat-like wings. Bill recognized the little creature, which was glaring at anyone who even gave it a shocked glance, as one of the bats from _Creepshow 2_.

It didn't even look like a plush toy, instead it appeared to be an animatronic but it seemed _so real_. Bill was also certain that the bat had not been there a moment ago. Its wings and skin looked so real, so leathery...

"I'm not the only one seeing shit randomly pop up, right?" Eddie whispers, quite loudly.

The man rolls his eyes as Stan and Mike and a few others nod.

Georgie is the only one brave enough to step forward first. Bill doesn't understand how, unless his excitement is clouding his judgment and his vision, since Bill can see, quite clearly, that on the glass, on the inside, trails of blood sliding down right in front of the man's face.

"G-G-G-Guh --"

Bill quickly follows him, Richie, Stan, and Eddie all making whining sounds because they know they're going to have to follow or look like pussies, and Beverly follows Bill and Ben quickly chases after her. Richie ends up having to pull Eddie by his wrist while Mike and Stan look eager to start running.

"G-G-G-Guh --" the man says, grinning widely. He lifts his right hand and a few of the kids jump, all of them seeing that he's wearing a brown leather glove, but that isn't what sticks out.

"Seriously? How often are you going to rip off Freddy Krueger?" Richie asks. "And now Stephen King, apparently?"

The man's grin widens, seemingly baring his yellow teeth.

"I'll stop doing it when it stops scaring you," he says, his voice low and husky, giving a chuckle and then a laugh that turns into a cackle that sounds _exactly_ like Robert Englund that successfully frightens a lot, if not all, of the kids. "And for the record, Mr. King and I go way back!"

Georgie, however, is not at all deterred and a few kids, including Dorsey Corcoran, follow his lead, though Bill doesn't miss how they're all standing behind both him, Eddie and Richie and even Stan and Mike all behind Dorsey, all of them clearly ready to run in case something goes wrong or the fear outweighs their curiosity.

"G-G-G-Guh --" the man repeats, but he isn't mocking Bill. Instead he has a thoughtful look on his face, as though trying to remember something but judging by his strange smile, he's merely putting on a show. "Georgie Denbrough!"

Georgie grins widely as the man leans forward to grab something from inside the booth. He places it on the desk inside and with the claws on his leather glove, he pushes it through the slot in the glass above his desk. Bill grabs Georgie's wrist before he can take it, because he isn't really supposed to be taking stuff from strangers, but then he blinks with shock when he sees it's just a chocolate bar.

Then again, it's a _Wonka_ bar, just like the ones from _Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory_ , only the wrapping paper is completely brown with silver at the ends and the words are white instead of brightly colored. The wrapping paper isn't pink and red on each side with a brown circle in the middle and Wonka is written in a more elegant script instead of bold.

"It's not poisoned if that's what you're thinking, Billy," the man says as Georgie takes the candy bar, using his other hand. The man grins. "Mr. Gray's been saving that special bar just for you, little man."

A few envious murmurs echo through the crowd.

Bill wasn't sure if he was thinking that the chocolate bar might be poisoned, as much as he was thinking that Georgie was still not supposed to be taking stuff from strangers and this guy was definitely a creep -- the man cackles again, making some of the kids shudder, Eddie and Stan among them -- but he was also thinking that, if he was remembering that movie correctly, the wrapping on the chocolate bar was different.

"Mr. Gray also hired a few of those Oompa Loompas just for Mr. Georgie Denbrough," the man says, still grinning widely.

He clicks his tongue as he reaches down again, this time pulling out a long, rectangular shaped box. Many of the kids peer excitedly, each one clearly hoping it was some kind of prize for them.

"Mr. Billy Denbrough."

Bill blinks, surprised, as the man pushes the rectangular box through the slot. He doesn't take it.

"It ain't gonna bite ya if that's what you're thinking," the man says as Bill continues to stare at it. "He might," he points at the bat, which indeed bites his finger, hissing lowly. He pulls it away and grins again. "If ya don't take it."

"What is it?"

"Nice try," the man says. "Do you want it or not?"

Bill hesitantly grabs it. A black rectangular box that doesn't feel at all heavy.

"Well, don't open it yet, ya moron!" the man snaps when he goes to open it, the bat shrieking unhappily, flapping its wings from the loud sound. "Save it for when the show starts!"

Bill isn't so sure he wants to open it at all, but figures that Georgie will do it for him.

"Now, where's that Eddie?"

Eddie gives a terrified whimper as the man reaches down again. Bill can tell Eddie is hesitant to look and then --

"Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me."

Bill can't help but laugh and he isn't the only one.

Its fur is white as snow, standing out, a stark contrast, to the dimness of the ticket booth, its horn glittering like brightly colored diamonds and Bill can tell its actual glitter, which he knows Eddie hates because of the fact that it gets everywhere, blue and pink and even purple, and its mane and tail shimmer like stars, just as white as its body. The man cackles, entertained, as he hands the Unicorn plush to Richie, as Eddie refuses to take it.

"All other prizes are inside if that's piqued your interests!" the man says. "And anyone who isn't Billy Denbrough that calls Mr. Gray 'Bob' is going to regret it!"

There's a round of excited cheering as everyone is about to start running up the steps, completely missing the last part he said, but he holds up his index finger, the blades clattering, and they all freeze.

"How many of you are diabetic? Mr. Gray wants to know," he asks.

"The fuck does being diabetic matter?" Bill hears someone in the crowd ask.

"Mr. Gray needs to know. We do birthday parties and most of the stock is sugar and we don't need one of you going into diabetic shock," he says, grinning in a way that reminds Bill of a snake or even a shark. Too many teeth, like a shark, but calculating like a snake. Yet obviously it's because this man has a morbid sense of humor, considering his next words, "Don't need one of you dying on our floors because you thought you could sneak some sweeties in," he says. "Also needs to know which one of you he needs to concern himself with about how much sugar you eat and what it tastes like."

"For... the diabetes... and health... right?" Eddie asks, very hesitantly.

The man's grin stretches, ear to ear. The bat seems to be grinning too.

"Yeah."

"Well," Eddie smiles, still quite hesitant, as he turns towards the kids, teenagers and little ones alike, who are all staring at the man with identical expressions. Ones of being thoroughly creeped out, borderline genuine fear. Bill is certain that's the man's intention. "At least... Mr. Gray... is considering the health of all the kids and making sure they're eating right?"

A few kids murmur in agreement.

"Yeah..." the man says in his low, gravelly voice. "Making sure the _kids_ eat right..."

An uneasy air settles as the man licks his own teeth. Slowly. Almost sensually. _Creepily_. Clearly making sure they all see as he licks every one of his teeth. Bill is strongly reminded of the dog from _Poltergeist_ when it licked its own chops after the mom and little girl buried the bird in the garden... He himself feels disturbed by seeing this, and wondering if he should feel more disturbed because it doesn't seem to at all bother Georgie, who is still smiling is happy, excited smile.

"Oh, and by the way," the man looks at Beverly, who looks ready to start hiding behind Ben, who doesn't look like he would stop her.

The man grins and taps his finger, or more accurately, the blade attached to his finger, to his bow tie. His grin widens as Beverly takes hold of her key. Bill can hear Gretta and her friends muttering angrily, enviously. The man turns away, looking at Richie and Eddie now.

"You boys better not miss the bus," he tells them, grinning and chuckling.

And with that, a black curtain falls over the glass from the inside, obscuring the man from view. His low and husky laugh can be heard, becoming a full on cackle once more and it echoes all the way across the lawn and even into the street.

"Can we panic now?" Eddie asks fearfully, Stan nodding in agreement.

"Don't be a pussy," Bowers says, shoving Dorsey out of the way, almost over the railing and walking up the steps, flanked, as always, by Belch and Vic, the latter giving Georgie a dirty look, and now his little cousin, who gives Richie and Eddie and even more dirty look, one of which, Eddie returns wholeheartedly.

The doorknob rattles suddenly, as though something is on the other side of it and with the way the knob begins to vigorously shake, it makes Bill think that someone or something is trying to _get out_...

The knob turns suddenly, the door opening as it swings on its own, going inside of the house. It's too dark to see anything inside, and there's nobody standing in the doorway, as though the door opened on its own... Bowers doesn't seem to care about not being able to see anything as he shoulders past Ben and is the first to walk in. Then Belch and then Vic and lastly of that group, Connor.

Beverly is about to follow them, but Gretta storms up the stairs, her feet stamping against the steps, and shoulders past her, nearly shoving her into Ben and giving her one of the most sour of glares, as she walks in next. Her group of girl friends follow, each of them giving Beverly equally dirty looks as they too walk in.

"I don't hear anything," Dorsey whispers to Georgie, his eyes wide.

"Maybe they're dead," Richie says.

A collective gasp and shudder ripples through the crowd. A lot of the little kids, and even some of the bigger ones, are afraid.

"D-D-D-Don't j-j-joke l-l-luh-like th-that," Bill says. "Y-You -- Georgie!"

Georgie runs in with Dorsey, Bill quickly chasing in after them. Beverly runs in after Bill, holding Ben's wrist with an excited grin on her face. Ben's expression is that of barely concealed terror.

"Ladies first," Richie says to Eddie, grinning.

"After you then," Eddie retorts.

A couple of kids laugh as they all enter the house, one by one, group by group. All of their dolls are grinning, childish and hopeful, wickedly and with morbid excitement, not an ounce of guilt or even fear on their little faces.

Richie, holding onto Eddie's hand, though mostly because he is trying to drag Eddie in before Eddie can get a firm grip around the railing or even start running, goes in next, followed by Stan, who is holding Eddie's Unicorn plush and Richie's doll because Richie was using both hands to pull on Eddie's, though the curly-haired boy is quite hesitant, even more so than Mike who follows him in. Eddie is the most reluctant and the most annoyed, of course.

Soon, all of the kids are walking into the house. The door swings itself shut as the very last kid walks into the house, the grins on the dolls' faces impossibly wide...

"It's too damn dark in here," Richie's voice echoes through the murmuring kids.

"That's my foot, Beaver-ly!" Gretta snaps.

"Sorry," Stan quickly apologizes.

"Turn on the fucking lights!" someone screams.

The lights suddenly come on. Richie speaks first. Or, more accurately --

"HOLY SHIT!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I love picking on Eddie.  
> \- Chapter twelve is on its way!  
> \- Sorry, I couldn't resist a cliffhanger lol  
> \- Let me know how it was in the comments below!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Chapter twelve!  
> \- The scene in this is taken from the 1990 version with adult Beverly, which is actually really creepy when you go back and watch it after watching the remake a total of eight and a half times lol  
> \- The scene from Coraline, of course ;)  
> \- A lot of foreshadowing in this one, I think  
> \- I think my favorite part of writing this story is all the ideas for other movie scenes. I'm looking forward to one I have planned with Henry.  
> \- I added a lot more to this than I thought I would. Please note that the perspectives jump around a lot.  
> \- This chapter has a scene taken from Nightmare on Elm Street 2: Freddy's Revenge, but it gets darker than the movie's actual scene. A lot darker. I kind of borrowed the idea from a deleted scene from Regular Show

Bill's eyes had adjusted to the scenery around him, though he had barely even registered Richie's shout of shock as something larger than a fully grown tom cat but smaller than a fully grown Rottweiler lunged for him. Bill had barely even noticed Richie falling backwards and landing on his back, a bunch of the kids letting out startled cries and a chorus of "Holy shit!" as well as "What the fuck!?" and "The fuck is that thing?!" as well as Eddie and Stan jumping back, Beverly yanking Georgie away from it and shoving him behind herself as though protecting him, and Mike hiding behind Ben, who gave him a look of annoyance.

Eddie was already starting to panic, screaming at the ticket seller to get it away despite the fact that he wasn't the one that had been jumped on by the creature and the creature itself wasn't actually hurting Richie, only sniffing him curiously as it places its elongated hands on his torso.

It was as though the creature recognized Richie from somewhere, most likely by his smell, but couldn't quite place it. It seemed rather curious and confused, not at all aggressive.

"The hell kind of dog is that?" Bowers asks, staring and pointing at the little creature with a wide-eyed expression that was mirrored on the faces of all the other kids, except Bill.

"I was going to ask the same thing," the ticket seller says, pointing a bladed finger at Connor while grinning.

The blonde boy doesn't even seem to register the insult, too busy staring with shock and confusion at the scene before him as Richie tries to pry the creature off his chest, shoving it by its thin shoulders to no avail. It digs its long, pointed fingers into his shirt, grabbing hold of him like a little baby would, making an unhappy screeching noise that makes Richie freeze, clearly worried about getting bitten, though it had no teeth or even facial features to speak of, or even scratched. Sensing there was no more struggle, the creature made a soft cooing sound and nuzzled the top of its round head against Richie's cheek. The boy looked quite disturbed, though he looked more offended than disturbed as Eddie was keeping his distance.

Bill was too busy looking curiously around the house to realize that everyone who was standing in the foyer or close enough to peer around the walls had their eyes on Richie, who was still being sniffed curiously by what appeared to be a miniature person, but it had rather monstrously long limbs, grayish, almost blackened, charred over skin, as though someone or something had burned it, and it had no actual face, though there were multiple gray lines running along its face, all joining together at the point of it, meeting in the middle where a mouth and a nose would be. The shape of the lines resembled a closed flower bud, suggesting that whatever it was could open its face and reveal something underneath, like a blooming flower, the flesh of its face acting as the petals.

"Animatronic," Bill heard Eddie tell Richie quickly, though his voice sounded as though it echoing down a wind tunnel as Bill was still distracted, the red-haired boy gazing about the interior of the house, "it's just an animatronic, Rich."

"Seems pretty fucking real to me!" Richie snaps, groaning with disgust as the creature places its elongated hands on his face, squishing his cheeks and jostling his glasses, cooing like a bird and chattering like a monkey. "The fuck is it supposed to be, anyway?"

"That's Cujo," the ticket seller says simply, as though this is either an everyday occurrence for him or he's so used to unusual things like this creature, that it doesn't even faze him. Or the creature, unusual to Richie, is perfectly normal to him. "Be grateful, that's the baby Demogorgon. You wouldn't want to meet his mama or his papa," he says, a rather strange grin on his face.

" _That's_ a _baby_?" Stan asks, sounding appalled.

"This isn't fucking D&D!" Richie snaps, still sounding quite unhappy. "Who the fuck even has animatronic Demogorgons? This thing isn't even accurate!"

"Would you prefer he have two heads then?" the ticket seller asks, an eyebrow raised.

Richie is silent. The ticket seller's grin widens as he neglects to add his commentary on the word 'animatronic'.

Bill couldn't even think about the creature, Cujo, as he looked around the house, unintentionally ignoring everyone around him. The interior of it was not at all what he might have expected, though he knew he was being silly because of course Neibolt wasn't going to look at all like it did before the clown had moved in. Eddie would have run right back out of the house and back to his just to disinfect himself if it had.

But Bill knew that before the clown, the house had been beyond run down, forlorn even, with the wood on the outside and obviously the inside corroded and rotted to hell, multiple holes having decorated the roof from where trees and their branches had fallen on it and broken through the already damned wood. The entirety of the house had been splintering and chipping away at the boards, the nails surely rusted over, bent and broken, the steps on the porch having been broken as well or one footstep away from falling apart.

"Termites holding hands" worked when describing Neibolt before, Bill thought, and even though he knew it was stupid, he had half expected to smell the reek of rotting wood, maybe even dead animal rot, probably rats and even squirrels, with cockroaches and spiders scurrying around, just something outrageously, hideously foul and nasty, completely gross to the senses, smell and sight especially, but instead he smelled something rather warm and delicious that reminded him of...

It reminded him of...

Home.

There are all kinds of warm smells, like scented candles, watermelon and vanilla, coconut and other sweet, sugary smells, but the one that stuck out most of all was the smell of something cooking. A nicely made, home cooked meal, one that was still baking in the oven... cheesy and spicy, kind of like a pizza... his stomach rumbles faintly, his cheeks dusting with pink when he is stared at by some of the kids.

Mostly Georgie and for some reason Bowers. The latter who looks at him with an expression akin to empathy, not that the blond boy even realizes he's doing it.

But there was something else. Something that reminded him of Georgie, but it was different somehow... It reminded Bill of when Georgie was first born, actually, back when his parents had brought him home from the hospital for that very first time... A smell he never forgot...

A sense of longing lingered in the pit of his belly. He might've supposed that it came from how much he really missed his mom at that moment, though he truly hated her with every fiber of his own being.

His eyes raked over the foyer despite it still being crowded with kids as the ticket seller toed Cujo away from Richie, the creature hissing angrily, sounding like a child or even a puppy throwing a tantrum, and the flesh on his face rippling, as though threatening to open his face up and attack.

He could smell paint as well, not so much that it burned his nose but enough that it made him feel somewhat content. Almost peaceful, even. The walls were painted a rich mother's milk white, the floor a creamy color, carpet instead of wood. There were pictures, drawings only kids could make with crayons and then actual photographs, the latter looking quite old, of clowns decorating the walls. Some of the clowns were vibrantly colored, others were pale, but not a single one was of a Sad Clown. Only the Happy Clowns. Brightly colored balloons, pinks and yellows, greens and blues, and even reds were being handed out to kids in some of the photographs. There was even a clown standing on a bridge, balloons in his gloved hand. Some of the pictures, the drawings, reminded Bill of a big, happy family.

"Oh, sure, just fucking walk away," Richie complains at him from on the floor as Eddie helps him sit up, a couple of kids now laughing as the ticket seller holds Cujo under his arm just like a puppy or even a handbag, the red bat on his shoulder hissing unhappily as Cujo leaps back onto the floor, scurrying around like a little spider, "that's just swell, Bill. That's just swell."

He might've thought that out of all of the Losers, Bill would've helped him pry a potential face chomper off.

Bill barely even heard him, however, his ears feeling ready to start ringing. He jumped when he felt the creature rubbing its head against his leg, sniffing at him curiously. The same way it had sniffed Richie, as though it knew him but couldn't quite place him. Or it did know him, but something was different and he was just confused. He even scratches at Bill's leg, almost pawing at him as a puppy or a cat would. It even starts to coo like a bird once more before purring like a cat, rubbing his forehead against Bill's shin lovingly.

"Hey, that ain't your Billy, go on, get," the ticket seller says, shooing him away with the gloved hand.

The flesh on the creature's face ripples and like a blooming flower, its face opens up, the flesh resembling large grotesque flower petals and revealing a large mouth lined with hundreds of sharp little teeth as it hisses at the ticket seller, who hisses right back. It scurries away on four legs, like a dog, disappearing between the sea of legs, clearly pouting.

Bill found something to be familiar about this house, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He instead focused on how different it looked and thought about what it must have looked like before the clown had moved in... he even had an idea of it because of Eddie's rantings, actually.

There was not a single cobweb in sight, or even a speck of dust or dirt or grime as Eddie had ranted on and on about. There certainly weren't any dead animals either. The roof and the floor were patched up, and he remembered seeing more than one overgrowth of plants on the outside, having come in through the roof after branches had collapsed onto it. There were no longer old and dirty boards on the windows, inside or outside, and the curtains were clean and looked brand new, not a single string out of place. The windows themselves were no longer cracked and broken, no longer stained with dirt or grime and there weren't any dead insects on the windowsills.

The house was actually really nice on the inside, spider plants hanging from the walls, planted in little baskets, the white flowers on the long green stems resembling the little insects. It actually suits it, a lot. It reminds him of a person's actual home instead of a place where a circus would stay, unless the people were staying in the house for the time being, though that doesn't make much sense because why put so much time and money into rebuilding Neibolt if you were going to leave once summer was over? Unless it wasn't a travelling circus, but that didn't make much sense either.

He then sees a comfortable looking sofa, an earthly green color, in the room to the left of the entrance, and in the room to the right he could see a grand piano.

Mahogany.

Expensive.

Unless there was something he was missing.

There was even a beautifully built fireplace, red brick no less, between the two doorways right before them, some of the kids even standing in the hallways because there were so many of them, Bill's shoulders brushing over theirs as he passes by. A set of stairs is to the left of the fireplace, before entering the left hallway.

Bill isn't exactly sure as to why, but he felt a sudden urge to go up the stairs. As though something, or maybe someone, was urging him to go, as though there was something up there he really needed to see or something up there that involved something he really needed to do.

"Bathroom's upstairs, Billy," the ticket seller says, though his eyes aren't on Bill, instead he's standing in the right hallway, showing the kids to the door that Bill is certain leads into the backyard, though he doesn't know how he knows that.

He's never been so close to Neibolt before, or focused on it long enough, to remember such distinct facts like that. Not in all of the time he's lived in Derry. He's always avoided looking at the house before, since it gave him and the rest of the kids in Derry the creeps. Nobody was even stupid enough to dare each other to go inside.

"Th-th-thanks," Bill says, swallowing as he looks up the stairs, his feet feeling like cinder blocks in his shoes while his body felt lighter than a feather drifting on a soft breeze at the same time, his feet not even feeling as though it was his own person controlling them as he begins to walk upstairs.

"He'll be fine, Georgie," the ticket seller says, still not looking at Bill or Georgie, when Georgie goes to follo whim.

The little boy frowns at his brother's back, seeing that Bill wasn't even paying any attention, a rather dazed and almost vacant look in his blue eyes. He's worried, especially since Bill had run in after him after he'd acted stupidly and ran in the house without him, but it had been Beverly who grabbed him to pull him away from Cujo. He still stares worriedly at Bill even as he accepts Beverly's offered hand as the Losers regroup, joined by a lonely looking Dorsey and two girls he knows are Esther Sinclair and Cheryl Lamonica.

He doesn't realize the two girls would be in a group of three, rather than with Dorsey and the Losers, if Veronica Grogan wasn't still _missing_.

The railing feels cool under Bill's fingertips. More mahogany, he sees, enriching the coloring of the house. The floorboards of the stairs are no longer ancient and rotting away, the railing no longer busted in multiple places, broken wood no longer hazardously tossed about. The stairs are also carpeted, the same creamy color.

The staircase seems to spiral as he ascends, though in a square shape, kind of like the stairways at the hospital. He doesn't even realize that he's distancing himself from the Losers and his own brother.

His mind doesn't even feel as though its inside his own body anymore.

He comes up to the top of the stairs, though there are more behind him to his right. He's unaware of the button eyes, not on his doll, staring at him from the very few shadows that manage to linger within the house.

A presence that still lingers, and won't leave him alone.

It isn't at all dirty or broken down. The floors are quite clean and speck free, almost pristine, the floors still carpeted, with multiple photographs of different landscapes that Bill thinks he recognizes, though he knows that doesn't make much sense because he's never been to New York before, and people adorning the walls. There is one photograph in particular, a man in a suit, his head bald and rather bulbous with brown hair on either side of his head, one of his eyes lazier than the other and his lower lip is pulled down, the former giving him the look as though he's gazing in two different directions. He's standing next to a little girl who Bill figures to be his daughter.

The photograph looks quite old, not so old that it's black and white, but he gets the feeling that this is the man Georgie met and isn't at the same time. The man and the girl are standing in front of a wooden trailer with the white painted words, "Pennywise the Dancing Clown" on the side of it.

Bill briefly glances at the stairs, weighing the option of going up them and seeing how much more of the house there is, but he shakes his head. He wonders if somewhere farther upstairs connects into the attic, as the metal staircase on the outside of the house did, but he doesn't go up them. He instead looks around with an almost detached sort of interest, some part of him curious about the house, thinking it reminded him of a dream he couldn't quite remember, and some other part of him wanting to go back to Georgie.

A brief flicker of guilt swarms him like an angry hive of hornets when he realizes that he hadn't even tried to protect Georgie from Cujo as Beverly had...

His curiosity and his guilt exist for reasons he doesn't fully comprehend at the moment, though the latter was because he was Georgie's big brother and should have been the one to protect him...

His temples pulse and throb, another thing he doesn't fully comprehend and he feels an inevitable headache coming along.

He sees more spider plants hanging from more baskets that are attached to hooks on the ceiling, more little white flowers decorating the long stems and resembling tiny spiders. It really does suit the house, giving it a more lively feel.

He misses how the spidery flowers are actually staring at him, almost like little eyes.

He walks further into the house, seeing a room with another grand piano, also mahogany, with a rocking chair that reminds him of the one his mom used to have, back when she was still pregnant with Georgie. Seven years doesn't seem like a long time, but it really is when Bill thinks about it. It reminds him of when she was into knitting and would sit in her rocking chair, Bill's head resting on her knee as she hummed a lullaby that often left him with pleasant dreams.

Baby toys are scattered all across the floor, some of little dolls and others of little action figures, superheroes and such, others of puppets that resemble clowns. One doll in particular, a clown, looked to be the size of a toddler, maybe just smaller than Georgie was.

It had a bulbous forehead, its face painted white with red lipstick on its lips, a red ball on his nose, and vibrant red hair on its head. The suit was bright yellow and quite baggy, its sleeves puffy and striped, teal and purple. A black, shimmery vest with pink lining sat on its chest, three orange pompoms running down its front. It had three ruffles around its neck, two of them starched white, the top one and the bottom one, and the third in the middle was striped, teal and purple. Large clown shoes were on its feet and on its hands were white, silky looking gloves.

It stands in the corner, seemingly watching Bill with its eyes, which strangely look to be bloodshot. A rather strange toy for a child, he thinks, though he's certain it's mostly because of how creepy he personally finds the doll to be.

There are teddy bears and plush toys of animals. A brown bear with blue eyes and a black top had and a black bow tie, a microphone in his hand. There's a gold bear that looks exactly the same, only with black eyes instead of blue. A purple rabbit with red eyes and a red bow tie and a toy guitar is next to a plump yellow duck with a bib on it that says, "Let's Eat!" in large yellow letters outlined with purple, a smiling pink cupcake in its hand, and a red furred fox that's dressed like a pirate.

More toys are that of another bear, though it had red on its cheeks, like blush, and a red ring around its black hat with a blue rabbit that had green eyes and a red bow tie, the rabbit distinctly resembling a clown. There's a much skinnier duck with a bib, though it says, "Let's Party!" and it has no cupcake, another fox, white furred instead of red, that looks like a clown with a red bow tie, that one in particular sticking out, and a few other plush toys of animals, though there is a little boy holding a balloon in one hand and a sign that reads, "Balloons" in the other, a large grin on his creepy looking face.

He isn't sure why, but the teddy bears and animal toys and even the boy with the balloon reminds him of Eddie. More specifically, he is certain that something about this room would serve to piss Eddie off or freak him out. Or maybe even both.

He knows the Good Guy doll he sees next to the first brown teddy bear is something Eddie definitely wouldn't like to see, since he was still terrified of that movie to this day.

Other than the strange plush toys and the Good Guy doll, he sees there are rattles and more puppets, all resembling differently colored but cheerful clowns. There's even a toy chest, though it's closed, in the far corner with pink and blue butterflies painted on it as well as little spiders, pink and blue, and even little turtles. There's a set of shelves on the wall with more plush animals on it, bears and rabbits mostly, and on the very top of it is a delicate looking music box that's playing a soft tune.

More toys litter the floor, that of strange little animals. What strikes Bill as curious, however, is the fact that they look like they've just been played with.

He sees at least five red furred, fox-like creatures as well as a little toy that resembles a fox crossed with a squirrel, an eye patch on its right eye, and even more peculiar looking puppets. The word _goblins_ comes to mind when looking at the puppets that don't purposefully resemble clowns. He tilts his head curiously at the music box, however, which is still spinning as its song plays.

He can't quite remember the song that had been playing in the store before his... accident, but he's certain it's another Bowie song. The doll spinning is what catches his eye, however. It's that of a girl in an intricate, beautiful gown, but as she spins she resembles a boy in a clown suit. He shakes his head, the girl returning.

This room reminds him of something, but he isn't quite sure as to what. All he knows is that he feels a sense of longing in the pit of his belly, maybe even from the bottom of his heart. It reminds him of a play room for little children, kind of like a nursery, which means that the house is either full of little children or at least a couple who are clearly spoiled with the strange but cute little toys.

Either one sounds rather sweet, and Bill's sense of longing and loss and even loneliness grows for reasons he doesn't quite understand.

He sighs as he sniffles, his eyes growing watery and stingy, though he straightens his back, stiffening, as the hairs on the back of his neck prickle again. The feeling of being watched returns, quite unpleasantly. He's certain that even though the ticket seller told him that the bathroom was upstairs, he's somehow invading someone else's house... though it really does feel like he's been here before...

Almost as though it's _his_ house, or he at least lives here or had lived here before, though he knows that doesn't make any sense.

Maybe in a dream. Or perhaps in another life.

Bill turns to the left and sees a hallway stretching out before him, multiple doors on either side, the one at the very end of the hall slightly ajar. Something flashes across his vision as he stares at that door in particular, finding himself standing in the hallway now...

A girl, not much younger than him, with short dark brown hair and a terrified look on her dirtied face. She's lying on the floor, her arms extended in front of her, desperation amidst her terror. The vision disappears just as quickly as it comes, almost as though it was a mere trick of the light or a nasty trick his mind was playing on him.

He is quite certain, almost positive, that the girl was Betty Ripsom...

He becomes dizzy and stumbles to the first door on the right, the bathroom, and his legs jolt as he walks, the limbs suddenly feeling like jelly as his vision grows blurry and his stomach seems to upturn itself, making him nauseous. He stumbles into the bathroom, nearly falling into the door as he clings onto it with both arms, unaware of the button eyes flickering from the shadows.

He even misses the toy chest opening just a crack, with little faces peeking out from inside the chest, as well as their eyes that watch him stumble into the bathroom. One pair is a rich, deep blue and the other is bluish green. Their faces are hidden in the trunk, shadows masking any facial features.

If Bill had seen the eyes, he would have seen a sight quite similar to what Georgie had seen when he first met Pennywise, or Robert, in the storm drain, the clown's face also having been mostly hidden in the shadows.

Little fingers hold onto the outside of the chest, however. Little baby hands, the tiniest of fingers, a total of four hands, all of them wearing silky white gloves. Clown gloves.

They whisper, the owners of those little hands and those big eyes...

"Now?"

"Not yet."

Bill doesn't feel good as he leans against the bathroom door, just barely hearing the clicking of the lock, though it wasn't him who locked it, rather the lock turned itself or an invisible hand did the job. Bill presses his back against the door, the boy nearly falling against it, feeling ready to puke and pass out in that order. His breath shakes and stutters, his lips parted as he fights for air, his chest heaving as his insides clench.

Yet he can't help but gaze about the bathroom as well.

It's just as clean as the rest of the house, or at least what Bill has seen of it, and smells sweetly of watermelon and other fruity smells, along with vanilla and coconut and other soft, soothing smells that settle both his stomach and his nerves. It's actually quite large and spacious, mostly white save for the wallpaper that covers most of the walls. It only covers half of the wall with the sink and toilet attached, the rest white tile.

There's a smaller door just next to the bathroom door, attached to a wall that juts out slightly, with a pink towel hanging from a hook on it, a floral pattern decorating the towel. Next to it is the towel rack which has a pink towel hanging form it. The rack is next to the sink, which seems to be made of porcelain and it juts out on the wall, the pipes sticking out underneath it before going into the wall...

Into the sewer...

The wallpaper decorating the walls is white and pale colored, the intricate pattern of it is spiders, though he fails to notice this detail. The spiders give the wall the appearance that they're crawling all over, up and down.

The tub is fairly large as well, looking as though it could hold two people, and there's a laundry basket off to the side, across from the sink and the toilet. Above the sink is a rectangular mirror with a gold knob on the side, obviously a medicine cabinet, the rims pure white, with a long light buzzing just above it.

The mirror looks like a little door. Bill misses the implication.

Actually, now that he thinks about it, the bathroom reminds him of Beverly's even though Beverly's bathroom, once all of the blood was cleaned up, was green... the light above the sink, the shape of the sink, and the tub, he thinks are what remind him of it...

He shakes his head, grimacing when the pain returns to throb in his temples once more. He leans against the door, almost falling on his ass, as he tries to calm himself down.

His entire head hurts now, he feels dizzy and nauseous, his skin feeling as though fuzzy little legs were crawling on him, quite the unpleasant feeling. He feels as though he's about to pass out, his thoughts becoming jumbled and blurry, fuzzy and distorted like television static. He doesn't head for the toilet, however, instead he stumbles, almost falling over, to the sink, grabbing each side of it with his hands. His skin feels hot and sweaty, his back seemingly on fire.

There are two faucets on either side of the sink, he sees, glinting silver under the light that buzzes obnoxiously above his head. He swallows, though it's a difficult task as his throat feels as though it's swelling up as if he's having a bad allergic reaction to something. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, his stomach feeling hollow and his knees quiver as his legs quake. He sets both his doll and the little rectangular box on the back of the sink, not that there's much space for them. He quickly turns on the tap on the right, watching as water pours out of it.

He cups his left hand and fills it with water, which feels icy but refreshing against his skin, and dabs it onto his forehead, wetting his bangs. He presses his wet palm to his neck, just under his chin, closing his eyes. He feels slightly better but still feels like ten pounds of shit in a five pound sack. He turns the tap off as he holds the sink again, both hands on it.

The tap drips a slow rip, the drain blocked with just a little bit of water in the sink, the little splashes sounding as though they too were at the end of a long tunnel. There's barely any water in the sink, so he doesn't remove the block...

A nap sounds immensely satisfying right now, though he knows that would be weird and intrusive since he's in a strange place and should be focused on getting back to Georgie... it won't hurt to close his eyes though, just for a moment...

His hands are pressed against the sink still, holding up him, as he begins to doze off. He doesn't see his reflection in the mirror. His skin is sickly pale, almost gaunt, with dark bags under his eyes, which are red-rimmed, though his sclera are not yet puffy from any more crying...

He realizes, with a sickening lurch in the pit of his belly, one that feels like getting socked in the gut by Bowers or his goons, that he hadn't even left a note for his dad to tell him where he and Georgie had gone...

Georgie's excitement for the circus had made him forget about it entirely, though Bill knew for a fact that it wouldn't matter even if he had left a note. The house was locked up, both the front and the back door, Bill's house key in his back pocket, not on a necklace like Beverly's, but he knew his dad would look for any excuse to be a bastard to him...

Bill presses his lips together, screwing his eyes shut as his thighs start to quiver and tremble, unable to stop himself from pressing his thighs together as though it will bar any more intrusive, unwanted, wandering hands. His eyes sting and burn with hot tears as his entire body trembles and quakes, his grip on the sink tightening. He feels sick to his stomach, incredibly nauseous but there isn't enough food in his system to actually puke out, though bile does burn the back of his throat. He opens his eyes, which have turned pink. The tip of his nose tingles as he starts to cry.

He closes his eyes again, his body swaying back and forth, his head from side to side, as though toying with the idea of letting him fall to the floor in a boneless heap... his mind goes hazy, ghostly hands seemingly trailing their fingertips down his back, spiders seemingly crawling down his spine, underneath his skin... sleep comes to him, dropping over him like a veil...

"I'm worried about Bill."

Beverly looks down at Georgie when he says that sentence, the girl surprised to see that he's frowning since he's the one that had been the most excited to see the circus. She's even more surprised to see that his eyes are rather glassy, almost teary, and she doesn't like seeing it.

"Hey, come on, he just had to go to the bathroom, he'll be all right," Beverly says, offering him a smile even though she's worried about him, too.

He had a rather dazed and sort of confused expression about him, as though he couldn't quite figure out where he was even at. He seems to know the layout of the house, as though he'd been there before, but still had that vacant look in his eyes. He hadn't even reacted when the creature had sniffed at him and even pawed his leg.

She knew something was wrong, and had an idea of what it was, but not even she had ever found herself in such a dazed state as to avoid everything around her. It had been instinctive when she had grabbed Georgie, not a thought passing through her head when she had thrown herself in front of him, but now she realized that Bill was right next to him, and judging by how much he obviously cared about Georgie, he should've been in her place instead.

Something was wrong, she knew, and she knew that Mike knew, but neither one of them wanted to make Bill uncomfortable by asking and she certainly wasn't going to press him if he wasn't ready to talk about it. Only, she had a worse idea because of how he had mentioned Patrick Hockstetter right before they met Mike.

Ben had asked if Bill had been attacked by him too, but the way Bill had looked was the way she had looked after Henry and Belch and Vic had toyed with her after cornering her outside her apartment.

Scared, like an easily spooked deer, and beyond skittish. He looked ready to jump at the sight of his own shadow, and he didn't strike her as the type to cry easily in front of his friends. He hadn't actually started crying, but it was clear he was on the verge of tears.

She doesn't say this to Georgie, however, but she wonders if she should bring it up to his dad but then wonders if it could have something to do with his dad, too, because she saw the bruises on his face, which he didn't have before they had met Mike. She'd seen the ones on his arms, in the shapes of fingerprints, and had a disturbed idea as to what was wrong with Bill. She has no intention of sharing this with anyone, because if Bill doesn't want it shared, she's not going to be the one to do it.

She's not going to make Georgie upset, however. But she does know that he clearly wants to believe her, but he can't. It's clear he doesn't know what's really wrong with Bill, maybe because he's too young right now, but it's clear he doesn't like seeing his brother so sad all the time.

"So, what other animatronic freaks of nature and total rip-offs of D&D do you think Mr. Gray has in store?" Richie asks, massaging the back of his head as they walk in a line out of the door, the seven of them the last in line, Cheryl and Esther and even Dorsey ahead of them.

Beverly misses Veronica. She was one of the few girls that hadn't been a total bitch to her over false rumors. She shrugs at Richie's question. So does Georgie.

Georgie is more worried about Bill than he is about the circus. It isn't the first time, and he's certain it won't be the last, that Bill has had that dazed look about him, though Bill hadn't been crying as he had been last night after their dad had grabbed his face. Georgie hadn't liked seeing that, and he knew Bill certainly didn't like having it happen to him.

Georgie didn't think it was right for his dad to be putting his hands on his big brother like that, and he knew something else must have happened when Bill went to get them the peaches, because he'd had that same tearful look about him. Only somehow it had been worse because Bill had locked his bedroom door, something Georgie knew he'd never done before, and had even put his desk chair under the knob, clearly blocking it.

Not only that, but Georgie had heard the doorknob rattle sometime in the middle of the night and had heard his dad saying the bad words Georgie wasn't supposed to say. He didn't think Bill knew, however, and he didn't want to be the one to tell him.It didn't help that Bill had been muttering in his sleep last night, things Georgie didn't want to repeat.

He hadn't seen Bill cry very often. It certainly hadn't happened before their mom had left back in October, and it had been happening more often since she had gone.

Georgie --

\-- felt his eyes widen against his will, a childlike wonder sparkling in their brown depths as he heard upbeat carnival music blasting all around him, realizing that he and Bill's friends were the only ones left by the door, which had shut right behind them, none of them even noticing, everyone else having taken off to get to whatever part of the circus they could, clearly having shoved the ticket seller down and he was standing there, dusting himself off with an annoyed expression on his face, giving a dirty look to Connor Bowers and a thoughtful one to the bladed glove on his hand as he put his hat back on his head.

He sees cannons lined up on both sides of him and his friends, all of them brown with red triangles that have gold lining painted on them. They have little pedals attached on the front of them, and he sees multiple popcorn makers, only not the kind he was expecting. They were large metal chickens that were pecking at a containers full of popcorn kernels and when they lift their head, their tails lift and popcorn pops out of their behind, falling into the jumbo sized bags underneath, filling them up almost instantly even though Georgie saw only a little bit fall in. The chickens cluck as the popcorn falls out. He doesn't miss Richie's snort of laughter.

"What're the cannons for?" Stan asks, peering into one.

"This," the ticket seller says, stepping on the pedal of a completely different cannon.

A bag of cotton candy, blue and pink, pops out of the cannon, smacking Stan in the face.

"Nice," Richie says, stepping on a pedal and snatching the pink cotton candy that pops out, only its pink on a white and red striped cone.

The sugary sweet fluffs up as he grabs the cone.

"Good service," Eddie says, helping himself to a piece of Richie's cotton candy.

Georgie looks around curiosity, excitedly, and sees all kinds of carnival rides, such as a Ferris wheel and even a carousel. He can't help but grin at the sound of Eddie's annoyed groan and he sees why instantly, since all of the horses have glittery horns on their heads. The lights on all of the rides light up the sky. There's a zipper, a tilt-a-whirl, a swing ride, bumper cars, faces painted on them of the monsters from the horror movies Bill won't let him watch, and roller coasters, one in particular shaped like a large blue space ship with orange marks, which he sees Stan eyeing rather eagerly, as well as a bus off to the side with a sign next to it that says, "Freddy's Party Bus!"

Though the slash marks on the wood, stretching across the words, are a little off-putting.

There's all kinds of food stands, hotdogs and pizza, burgers and shakes, fast food spots like McDonald's and even Burger King, elephant ears and slushy makers, run by little men with brown skin and black hair and rather masculine faces. It astounds Georgie how little the men actually are, even smaller than him. Some wear skin tight red suits, others wear black ones, and some wear little tuxedos.

There's one particularly short man dressed as a clown wearing a pink tuxedo, his pants striped purple and pink, with yellow cuffs and purple cuff links, a red bow tie, a white button-up undershirt and a yellow vest under his jacket, with puffy yellow shoes on his feet. He's wearing a bald cap with orange tufts of hair on the sides and his makeup consists of white face paint, red lipstick, and a red ball on his nose.

To Georgie's surprise, and he blinks multiple times as his brain registers what he's seeing, the little clown has no actual eyes. Instead, two black buttons sit almost snugly in the place where his eyes were meant to be. They were not at all shiny like the eyes on the dolls either. The man gave a shrug at Georgie's stare, as Georgie was the only one actually looking at him. As a matter of fact, Georgie was the only one, except maybe the ticket seller, to actually notice the little clown's presence.

He sees a train ride, an actual train instead of a little one, the sign reading "Terror Train! Way better than Jamie Lee Curtis!" and multiple pavilions where kids were already sitting down with food. He could see a trapeze way above their heads, where two clowns, one that looked like Robert but he had fluffy, spiked up ginger hair and a rather bulbous head from what Georgie could see, and the other brightly colored, his head also large and bulbous, were throwing themselves back and forth. Sometimes the ginger haired clown would catch the red-haired one, and other times the red-haired one would catch the ginger one, both of them propelling themselves into the air and doing maneuvers that seemed to bend them in odd shapes, their limbs long like spiders.

He could see the entrance to a petting zoo, and he saw how Mike flinched away from it, and saw a container as big as the mansion itself in the background, behind even the Ferris wheel, though it was filled with water and all kinds of fish Georgie had never seen before. He was also certain that not only did they have larger teeth than him, but their actual bodies were larger than Bill and wider than Ben.

He sees all kinds of stuffed toys, a humongous teddy bear in particular, and all kinds of action figures and comic books. Balloons are all over the place, pinks and blues, greens and yellows, some red, though those have white arrows painted on them. He can even see a mirror house, the entrance being a large wooden clown's mouth, the entrance painted red and white.

He didn't think Neibolt's backyard was even big enough for everything that he was seeing...

"Is that a piranha?" Richie asks, pointing at the large aquarium.

"Piranhas don't get that big, do they?" Stan asks, staring with shock at the size of it.

The fish and the tank.

"They do if they're the parents," the ticket seller says.

A low and gravelly chuckle makes them all turn back towards the seller, where another man is standing beside him. Only he's even creepier looking than the ticket seller had been when standing behind the glass that had blood on the inside.

The second man is wearing what looks like a green janitor's outfit, a green button-up underneath that, with a green cap on his head, but that isn't what stands out. His face is long and pointed, his nose long and hooked, and his ears are quite large and bat-like, also pointed. His chin is quite long and has a cleft in it, with long gray hair sweeping past his shoulders and a creepy grin on his face. Georgie is certain is teeth are sharper than they're supposed to be, and his fingernails are quite long as well. He's grinning at the ticket seller, a large parcel in his hands wrapped in brown paper and tied with two strings.

"I've never seen kids so impatient to get to the circus before," the creepy man says, his voice deep and gravelly. "Almost as though their lives depended on getting to each ride first," his grin widens. "Maybe that'll be your next big blockbuster."

"Blockbuster died a long time ago, get with the times," the ticket seller says.

"Ah, well," the creepy man says, waving a hand as he looks at Georgie, who backs away. "Give Billy a comic book for me, will ya, Georgie?"

And with a laugh, he throws the parcel at Georgie's feet. He waves his hands at it, like a magician performing a magic trick, his eyes widening briefly, and Georgie watches, awed as seemingly out of nowhere, as though by magic, two of the red bats just like the one on the ticket seller's shoulder appear out of nowhere, screeching as they flap their wings, tearing the white strings from the parcel. The bat on the ticket seller's shoulder flaps his wings, taking flight and snatching the brown paper off of the parcel, revealing comic books.

 _Creepshow_ comic books.

The creepy man jumps into the air, a flash of white and his clothes change into a suit that reminds Georgie of a vampire, and then he disappears into thin air. Georgie rubs his eyes to make sure he was seeing things properly.

"Show off," the ticket seller says, stretching his arms and Georgie can faintly hear bones cracking and popping. "Alright, which one of you pansies am I scaring the shit out of tonight on the bus?"

"What's so scary about a bus ride?" Stan asks, almost warily. He's eyeing the spaceship roller coaster almost longingly.

"You mean other than going to school?" Richie asks, grinning.

"No spoilers," the ticket seller says, grinning. "Just know I haven't driven a bus since 1985 so I might be a little rusty."

"That was four years ago," Eddie says, looking and sounding confused.

"For _you_ , maybe," the ticket seller says, grinning as Georgie grabs a comic book for Bill. "Everything's free. Bathrooms are all over the place. Try not to puke on anybody but if you do, aim for the Bowers brat. And I don't mean the one with the mullet."

"Gladly," Richie says, scoffing.

"One more thing. The basement and the attic are off limits. Of course, I don't know why I'm telling you this, since that seems to make dumb bastards go looking anyway," the ticket seller says.

"Why would the basement and attic be off limits?" Ben asks curiously.

"This isn't a horror movie anyway," Eddie adds.

The ticket seller snorts.

"What does this open?" Beverly asks, holding out her key.

The ticket seller just grins and puts a bladed finger to his lips. He then points the same finger at Richie and Eddie, and then the bus before heading that way himself.

"Shall we?" Richie asks, grinning as he holds his arm out to Eddie.

"We shall not," Eddie says unhappily. "I'm not getting on that fucking bus."

"I will drag you by your pigtails if I have to," Richie says.

Eddie grumbles as he lets Richie lead him off to the bus, the ticket seller seen cracking his knuckles from the driver's window.

"Shouldn't we... stick together?" Stan asks. "You know? 'Cause of Bowers?"

"I'm not going without Bill," Georgie says quietly.

As excited as he is to try out all of the rides, assuming he's tall enough for some of them, and play the games and win that giant sea turtle stuffed toy he can see next to the giant bear, it won't be the same without Billy.

"Well, how about we try out the food court? Or look for some of those Oompa Loompas?" Beverly says, understanding his point.

The little men running the food stands look confused, one even shrugging.

"We're gonna go check out the roller coaster," Stan says quickly, pointing at himself and Mike and darting in that direction.

Mike, however, just stands there, looking confused.

"'We'?"

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you," Beverly says, looking at Mike. "Ben, can you take Georgie and get some burgers?"

"Uh, sure," Ben says, looking as confused as Georgie felt, though he did take Georgie's hand and lead him off to the burger spot.

"I mean, everything seems so cool, I just... I don't do well around petting zoos," Mike says, eyeing the sign warily.

"That's not what I wanted to talk about," Beverly says, rubbing her arm nervously.

She knows she hasn't misread the signs, but she doesn't want to invade Bill's privacy and she doesn't want to come across as a gossip monger. She certainly doesn't want to gossip about his private life like that.

"I know," Mike says, sighing. "You've seen it too."

"We're talking about the same thing, right?"

"Bill," Mike says quietly. "He's... he's got this look about him. He seems cool and all, but I don't think he's doing to good."

"Yeah," Beverly says quietly, lowering her eyes. "He looked pretty sick in there."

"I don't know him that well, I haven't known him that long but..." Mike sits on a bench, Beverly sitting next to him. "You guys all helped me out of a tight spot with Bowers back there. You're the only friends I've got in this town. I know what it feels like... I've had that same look..."

"Scared," Beverly says quietly. "Sad."

"I want to help, you know? I want to say, 'Hey, you alright?' but, I don't want to be intrusive and I don't even know if this --" he gestures between himself and Beverly, "-- is rude or not."

"I think, because we want to help, rather than talk shit about him behind his back, that's something," Beverly says, believing it.

"Yeah," Mike says quietly, lowering his eyes. He holds his hands together, rubbing them together almost nervously. "I... I've seen some stuff. I've had... nightmares. Bad ones. I work on my grandfather's farm, sometimes I have to... I deliver the meat after they take care of the sheep. And when I was a kid, I used to live in that burnt down house... I was inside when it caught on fire..." a sad look crosses his face, Beverly's heart stinging with sympathy. "... some things just get to you. Some things you just can't forget. We're all afraid of something."

"I just..." Beverly says quietly, "I can't tell if it's... before we met you, he mentioned Patrick Hockstetter. I don't know if you know him."

"I haven't seen him in a while. I know he hangs around Henry Bowers," Mike says quietly, scowling at the memory of Belch almost running him down in that alley. "He bully you guys too?"

"I don't know if you know the rumors about me, but they're not good ones," Beverly says.

"I know about that," Mike says, remembering the dirty whispers.

"I guess we all do," Beverly says grimly. "But, Henry and his goons, Belch and Vic, they cornered me when I was walking home from school. Picking on me, pulling me hair and calling me... dirty names. Patrick was there but he didn't... join in, I guess. I had this look for the longest time, I couldn't stop feeling their fingers touching my hair and my arms..." she wraps her arms around herself, her lip quivering as she remembers it, goosebumps prickling her flesh like little dirty needles. Mike looks at her, empathetic. "... I always had this look... I almost didn't want to stop hiding behind my dad for the longest time... but I don't think Bill's dad is very... nice."

"You've seen them too? His face?" Mike says quietly, touching a hand to his jaw.

She nods.

"I don't... I don't want to hurt his feelings, I don't want him to think we're just talking about him behind his back. It's not like that, I just... I just don't know how to help him," Beverly says softly, her eyes stinging as she sniffles.

Neither realize the full extent of it. Someone does.

"I think we should just... be there for him," Mike says, "you know, let him know we're there. He'll confide in us if he feels like it. Pushing him, asking it of him, that isn't going to help."

"Yeah," Beverly says softly.

"Who knows, maybe the circus will be the best thing to happen to this town," Mike says.

"Yeah," Beverly says again, smiling as she looks at Ben and Georgie. "Cotton candy?" she asks, pushing her foot against a pedal and grinning as a bag pops out.

"Don't mind if I do," Mike says, grinning as he takes some.

"This bus stinks like pee."

Richie rolls his eyes at Eddie's complaining. He and the dark haired boy are sitting in the back, a seat before the last one. At least four seats in front of them are Cheryl and Esther. Already Eddie has complained that the bus smells like pee and other "gross matter" and has questioned every little thing he could, and somehow Richie ended up being the one to carry Eddie's Unicorn plush, which he totally plans on stealing when Eddie isn't looking.

"You stink like feet," Richie retorts.

"I smell like potpurri, asshole," Eddie says unhappily.

"Isn't that literally a French word meaning 'rotten pot'?" Richie asks.

Eddie scowls.

"Since when do you know French?" he asks quickly, trying to hide his embarrassment. The pink of his cheeks gives him away, however.

"Since Ben moved to town," Richie says, shaking his head. "Not much of a party bus, is it? Not a single hooker in sight."

Eddie just bangs his head against the bus seat in front of them as the bus starts to pick up speed.

"Hey, driver, isn't that the stop?" Esther asks, looking at the spot where they just drove in a circle, more kids waiting for their turn.

The bus picks up more speed, Eddie gripping the back of the seat tightly, his nails digging into the fabric, as his stomach clenches. He's never liked riding the bus because of the statistics of vehicular accidents, especially regarding buses, but something else feels wrong.

"You look constipated," Richie says.

"Shut up! Just shut up, Richie!" Eddie says.

"Driver, that was the stop!" Esther says, looking scared.

Eddie feels his breath escaping him as he feels the bus speeding up faster and faster, beyond the speed limit.

"Not safe, dude!" he snaps, opening his eyes to glare at the back of the driver's seat, only to have them widen as his stomach feels as though it just fell out of his body.

They drive off the road and into a desert landscape, tumbleweeds flying by and smacking against the windows as Eddie sees everything spinning around them. Fear turns his back into ice as he hears the engine rumbling and sputtering, seeing smoke billowing out of the dashboard of the bus.

"Driver, what's going on?" Cheryl asks, looking terrified.

Richie just looks bored, even as the driver's gloved hand grabs the gear stick. He jumps, however, when lightning cracks across the darkening sky as they drive farther and farther into the desert. Stan isn't here to convince them, or maybe just himself, that it's all illusions, mirrors and projectors. That's all it is...

... right?

The two bolts that streak across the sky, to Eddie, those look _pretty fucking real_.

The bus swerves to the right, narrowly missing a large set of cacti, Richie nearly falling out of the seat as Cheryl and Esther start screaming. The bus rumbles precariously, smoke flying out underneath the hood. The bus goes flying into the air, slamming into the ground and sending dirt flying everywhere.

Eddie's heart pounds in his chest as the force of the bus screeching to a halt forces them all out of their seats and onto the floor. He smacks his hand against the window, his eyes wide as he sees the soil suddenly collapsing into the earth, as though its a sink hole. He watches, eyes wide, as the earth beneath the bus rumbles, as though an earthquake is happening, the circus nowhere in sight, and the dirt gives way.

His stomach lurches before the bus does, the creaking and groaning of it making his calves turn rigid. He knows Richie's bored face is merely a front. The bus --

\-- _tilts_.

The earth is gone, an ominous glowing red light illuminating from the bowels of the earth as the bus tilts precariously on only two towers. He jumps as blue lightning strikes the bus. Another bolt snaps just behind them. Thunder bellows as the lightning cackles.

"This is a fucking joke!" Richie says loudly, though Eddie can see sweat beading down his temples.

"Who is that?" Cheryl cries as the ticket seller stands, grabbing the pole to help himself up.

"Real cute, asshole! What's next? Cujo the Demogorgon coming back to haunt me?" Richie snaps as Cheryl and Esther jump up, their faces and eyes already red and blotchy from crying, and back up towards them.

Eddie stumbles as the bus tilts backwards, feeling the gravity pulling at them like thousands of hands. He can't help but cry along with them as the only other tall tower of earth at the front of the bus gives away, plummeting into the fiery depths below.

His back is hot, his arms cold. Sweat beads down every inch of him as his stomach seemingly falls with the earth, plummeting to its death. His heart feels ready to burst out from between his ribs.

The man, no longer the ticket seller, his entire form masked by the smoke, grabs the bus seats and starts cackling at them. Cheryl and Esther are forced to move closer towards him to avoid sending the bus hurdling over the edge, Richie and Eddie right behind them. Richie's facade is gone now, the boy panicking with the rest of them.

His heart beats.

Sporadic.

No rhythm.

He's _petrified_.

"I want my mom!"

Cheryl isn't the only one screaming those four words. Two others do. The other is Eddie, terrified as his feet turn into lead in his shoes, his calves into ice, and the other is the driver, who cackles mockingly.

" ** _I want my mom_**!" he jeers, cackling wildly.

Nastily.

 _Evilly_.

He stalks towards them, a predator chasing its already trapped prey, all four kids screaming and the girls bawling at the top of their lungs. He brushes the four blades over the seats, the sound of fabric tearing a gut-wrenching thing. As he steps closer and closer, tearing the seats as he does, each step slow and almost methodical, clearly enjoying the reek of their fear, the bus tilts backwards as they are forced into the back seat.

Three more seats suffer the same fate as the others. Cheryl can be heard shrieking above them all as Eddie is squashed in the very back seat.

"I thought this was supposed to be a fucking party bus!" Richie screams, holding onto Eddie for dear life as the man lifts his gloved hand, blades glinting in the hellish light...

He points a bladed finger to the window, the kids looking outside to see a paramedic ambulance just outside across the crater, a paramedic holding a white sheet above four bodies.

Four hearts plummet as they see, burned and charred, but just recognizable, the skin gray and the eyes void of life, four bodies lying on the ground. Before the paramedic throws the sheet down, each kid sees their own corpse staring right back at them.

"The fuck kind of party bus is this?!" Richie screams.

"Don't you boys and girls worry!" the man cackles, his voice deep.

Guttural.

Button eyes flash across his face. Shadows flicker and distort the scene.

"THERE'S PLENTY OF PARTIES WHERE YOU'RE GOING!"

The scene is drastically different. The bus tilts, though the front wheels get stuck. Cheryl and Esther go flying backwards, Richie and Eddie trapped in the seat.

THUD.

The sharp sudden creaking.

Shrill.

High-pitched.

Shrieks.

Blood curdling screams of sheer --

\-- raw --

\-- pure --

\-- _terror_ \--

Eddie just barely glimpses Cheryl's sneaker going out of the bus's back door as both girls fall out of the back of the bus, the door slamming open and smacking against the side of the bus. He doesn't dare look, Richie having to witness, as both girls plummet into the fiery depths below, screaming the entire way down.

They disappear in a heap of sudden flames that shoot upwards, the screaming cutting off as instantly as when a television is turned off. The roar of fire replaces their screams, maddened cackles echoing like distorted white noise.

"I can't believe you _fell_ for that one!" the man cackles, his button eyes flashing through the shadows despite their dull, dimness.

The iconic Freddy Krueger cackle, maniacal and sinister as ever and always, echoes through the bus --

The wheels become unstuck --

The bus plummets, Eddie and Richie screaming the entire way down as the man roars with demented laughter.

Both boys nearly fall out of the door, their hands scrabbling for each other but they just barely brush before both boys are separated on either side of the bus. Both just manage to grab a seat.

Yet limbs flail wildly, desperately, Richie's glasses flying from his face.

Screaming.

High and shrill.

Hot --

\-- Burning --

\-- Fiery --

Hellishly hot wind smacks the backs of their ears as they feel the heat coming closer and closer --

It's almost like being thrown by someone or something infinitely bigger than you, or getting something heavy thrown into your chest and stomach at the same time.

Eddie, Richie, Cheryl and Esther, they're all standing to the entrance of Freddy's Party Bus, the bus doors wide open and inviting. The smug grin on the ticket seller's face is not at all endearing.

"The fu-- the he--" Eddie's eyes are impossibly wide and he isn't the only one.

Traumatized would be the best word to use.

"Well," the ticket seller says, leaning in his seat as though he's just had the time of his life. "Mr. Gray thought it wouldn't be very fun if we stuck to the script."

"You call that shit fun!?" Eddie screams at him as Cheryl and Esther run away, still in tears. "I nearly peed my pants!"

"Right..." Richie says, tugging his shirt over his crotch. "... nearly."

It's a morbid sense of curiosity that causes the other kids to wonder what could have caused them such distress.

"That's what you get for calling my party bus a joke, Tozier," the ticket seller says, grinning proudly.

Smugly.

Eddie wants to punch him in the face and go change his shorts at the same time. Richie does the latter, running into the bathroom.

"By the way," the ticket seller reaches under the seat and pulls out a pair of shorts, and a pair of glasses. The latter has a crack on the lens.

Eddie realizes that Richie honestly lost his glasses --

Air leaves his lungs as though he's just been punched in the chest by an impossibly large fist even as the ticket seller puts the shorts and glasses in Eddie's hands.

Despite the fact that every nerve in his brain feels as though it's on fire, even as kids shove past him to get on the bus, eager to see what all the hubbub was about, he can't help but ask one simple question;

How the hell had Richie lost his glasses if they hadn't --

They _had_ been on the bus... _hadn't_ they?

"Don't think too much into it, Eddie Bear," the ticket seller says as the Bowers cousins and Belch and Vic shove past him to get on the bus. "You'll ruin the fun of it."

"Fun?" Eddie whispers, the ticket seller grinning at the horrified look on his face.

And with an evil chuckle, he pulls the lever on the bus, the doors shutting in Eddie's face.

The boy can't help but watch as the bus drives down the street, disappearing from view... almost as though it was never there in the first place.

He shakes his head, trembling head to toe, wondering if it was too late to spend the rest of his summer hiding in his mom's bed, as he passes the sign and heads to the bathroom.

The slashes on the sign are glowing with an eerie red light, a high-pitched, maniacal, evil cackle echoing in the distance.

It isn't the ticket seller who is laughing.

"Where's Billy?"

Georgie has asked this question several times now and Ben honestly feels bad for him. He's not annoyed, he's worried too. He was jealous of Bill at first, until Beverly said it was a date. Only he was wondering why he was stuck playing babysitter instead of Richie, who he had just seen run into the bathroom, holding his crotch for some reason, also missing his glasses, after getting off the bus, Eddie following him in with a pair of shorts in his hand and the most wide-eyed, terrified look he's ever seen on anyone on his face.

"I'm sure he's fine, Georgie. He's probably looking for us now," Ben says.

He isn't sure how true that is, since he and everyone else had seen how strangely Bill had acted back in the house. He hadn't even reacted when the animatronic had touched his leg and nuzzled him. Almost as though he didn't even feel it.

Ben thought it might've been because Patrick attacked him, did something to him that he didn't want to talk about, and he could understand that, but that didn't add up since Georgie said the TV had been fine and TVs don't just explode anyway. Unless Bill had misspoke, but Ben was sure he hadn't. He felt bad for him, and he felt bad for Georgie too for being worried about him, but he didn't know what to do. He knew food made everyone feel better, and that's why he bought eight cheese burgers and a bunch of fries, though he asked for Eddie's to have no cheese on it only because he wasn't sure if Eddie was lactose intolerant or not and he didn't want to get yelled at if Eddie was. Though the reason he went with the simple burgers was mostly because he had no idea what to buy for everybody.

The little man behind the counter needed to get him three bags.

"Hey, there you are," Beverly says, her and Mike approaching and offering them cotton candy.

He sees that Mike has some stuck in his hair. Pink and blue flecking it like brightly colored snowflakes.

"I stepped on a pedal by accident," Mike says, chuckling at Ben and Georgie's stares. "I'm just gonna have to shower when I get home."

"Did you guys see Bill?" Georgie asks worriedly.

He's sure he's annoying them, but he can't help it.

"No, I'm sure he's somewhere. Maybe he got on the bus," Beverly says.

"Don't get on the bus," Eddie says quickly, approaching them with a look on his face, Richie adjusting his shorts unhappily.

If he wasn't terrified out of his wits, still shaking with his skin whiter than chalk, he would have been called the ticket seller a creep due to the fact that the shorts were his size. So were the underwear that had been in the shorts. He also didn't understand how the ticket seller had gotten his glasses.

The other Losers and Georgie don't miss the crack on his glasses.

"The hell happened to you?" Beverly asks, eyeing Richie. "Where'd your pants go?"

"I pissed myself on the bus," Richie snaps unhappily, accepting the ice cream Stan offers him, the curly haired boy appearing out of nowhere and looking much happier than he felt, his blue eyes wide with sheer delight and his pupils blown.

He was also shaking, but for a completely different reason.

"Was it good?" Stan asks, licking his ice cream and grinning. He was happier than any of the Losers had ever seen him in years. "I got to steer the Milano, it was like actually going through outer space! There was even a bunch of stars that looked like a skull that the beautiful green girl with pink hair called Knowhere and --"

"No, Stanley, it was not good! Falling into Hell is not good!" Eddie snaps, also accepting the offered ice cream.

"You fell into Hell on the bus?" Beverly asks, confused.

The way she speaks is slowly, as though she cannot comprehend what Eddie has just said or she thinks that Eddie doesn't understand what he's saying.

"Illusions, projectors, mirrors, I don't fucking know! I thought I was going to fucking die!" Eddie snaps. "I mean, it makes you think you're driving through the desert and then --"

"No spoilers, dude, I wanna see," Beverly says, reaching to grab Georgie's hand but Eddie yanks him away.

"Uh huh, Bill will never forgive you if you put Georgie on that bus," Eddie says.

Georgie frowns.

He feels as though he's being selfish for bringing Bill's friends down with his worry about him, but he can't help it. He cares more about his brother than he does a circus, and now he feels bad for all the times he's talked about it.

"I'm sure he's fine," Stan says, "anyone want to ride the Milano after we eat?"

The hopefulness in his voice makes Georgie go with them, though he peers around through the crowds of kids for Bill. He doesn't see him anywhere.

 _Maybe space will give me a better view_ , Georgie thinks childishly.

Because all he wants to do his find his big brother. Even though he's with Bill's friends, they're his friends, too, he still feels like a little kid lost in in a big, scary world. Thought brings tears to his eyes, so he lowers his head so nobody sees it.

The child in him is hopeful, the little brother in him is still worried.

"How hot is the green chick?" Richie asks, Eddie whacking him upside the back of the head.

"Jealous much?" Beverly asks, laughing.

"Shut up," Eddie grumbles.

"Beautiful," Stan says excitedly, "I mean, she looks like she could kill you with her thumb alone but she's got these big eyes and her hair and her smile! I mean, I only made her smile once but it was worth it!"

"Sounds like you're in love," Ben says, his eyes on Beverly with a hopeful smile on his face.

It's awkward because they're in a group, but she did say it was a date... that meant something, didn't it?

"Anyone know when lunch is?" Richie asks.

"How can you even think about eating after that?" Eddie asks quietly, shuddering.

"I think it's just random. I think you eat whenever you want," Ben says. "Besides, I got burgers and fries."

They sit together under a pavilion, everyone opening their burgers and sharing fries, except Georgie, though Eddie doesn't understand why his doesn't have cheese on it. The six Losers eat while Georgie stares at the back door almost expectantly, almost desperately, as though Bill is going to come walking out of the door any minute now...

" _ **BILLY**_!"

Bill jumps when he hears someone calling his name, his bones feeling ready to pop out of his skin, his eyes out of his skull as they shoot open. He recognizes the voice. The same indecipherable one that had come out of that shadow...

"Did you fall asleep in there? It's lunch time!"

That voice is softer, loud and definitely deep, definitely a man, but his heart still races in his chest. What he missed about the first voice, or maybe it was the same one, is _how_ it had called his name, as though it, his person, was the _foulest_ thing whoever had called up for him could possibly imagine. As though whoever had called up for him absolutely _hated_ him.

Bill's lip quivers as he shakes, looking back down at the sink, his eyes widening at the sight. It's nearly full of water, the tap still only a little drip instead of a full blast.

How _long_ had he been standing here? Nobody had even come looking for him... he couldn't blame Richie, because he was certain he had done something to upset him... he couldn't remember... but Georgie hand't... unless... actually... hadn't... hadn't Bill _just_ entered the bathroom?

He closes his eyes again, trying to think, his head pounding as he does. Hadn't he _just_ walked into the bathroom? Hadn't he _just_ turned on the tap? He couldn't even remember what time he and Georgie had left the house... what time they had arrived at Neibolt... the sun had been glaring down at everyone... it had been before noon, he was certain... _maybe_ ten o'clock... so if it was noon now... lunchtime... Bill grimaces and shakes his head.

There's no way he's been standing here for quite possibly two hours...

... right?

Bill's breath shakes as he shivers, his belly rumbling hungrily. The two peaches seem like a millennia ago...

"Lunch..." he whispers, "... lunch would be nice..."

As if agreeing with him, his stomach gurgles once more.

He sighs as he lowers his head, his reflection disappearing under the mirror. He's half tempted to stick his head into the water to wake himself up, but decides against it. He doesn't want to end up falling asleep in the water and end up drowning himself... He lifts his head back up, though his eyes are downcast, not paying attention to his surroundings, so he misses the fact that his reflection is quite different than his actual face and shirt.

White grease paint. Red painted lips. With a bright red ball on his nose. His shirt isn't the white one with the navy blue sleeves. Instead, in his reflection, he's wearing ruffles around his neck, two white and one with stripes, purple and teal. That one was in the middle, between the two white ruffles. An orange pompom sits on his chest, on a bright yellow, baggy jumpsuit. On top of the jumpsuit is a black, shimmery vest with pink lining, the sleeves of the jumpsuit also purple and teal, striped just the same, and quite puffy.

Just like the puppet he had seen in the play room.

The expression on the reflection's face is the same, however. Sullen and downcast, almost depressive.

Maybe Bill is dreaming. Or maybe he's living another life. Both Bill and his reflection.

Bill sighs as he walks out of the bathroom, his reflection staying in the mirror and staring at him sympathetically, the boy still feeling the unpleasant feeling of being watched as he carefully treads back down the stairs, feeling ready to collapse as he holds onto the railing for support. He doesn't even realize he left both the box and the doll behind.

The baby toys were gone, something he noticed almost instantly, though he missed the fact that the portrait of the man and his daughter was also gone, replaced with a black and white photograph of a little boy that would remind him of Georgie if he had looked at it, the photograph winking at him as he passed by, blood suddenly pooling out of the bottom of it and dripping onto the wall.

Bill steps down the stairs, his head throbbing. He sighs, inhaling softly through his nose.

His stomach hungrily as he smells it. Something fresh out of the oven.

 _Something smells good_ , he thinks longingly.

Cheesy and meaty... spicy and...

"Pizza?"

He doesn't miss the fact that he's the only kid in the house, the Demogorgon taking a nap on the couch, and he can hear excited sounds coming from outside of the house, from the backyard, he's guessing, since he can see a Ferris wheel and a carousel through the windows, that last one making him laugh since he can see all of the horses are unicorns, and he simply hopes that Georgie is with Beverly and all of their friends.

He doesn't trust Bowers or his goons. Vic Criss especially.

He walks into the kitchen, wondering if he was intruding, his hands held up to the point that they're almost pressed against his chest, his fingers brushing against each other nervously. He's shy and skittish even as he's lured in by the delicious smell of food. He peeks further into the kitchen, which is more than immaculate and homey.

White tiled floors, mother's milk white walls, with quite a lot of cupboard space. The cupboards are painted a rich, creamy color. Multiple cook books are on the wooden counter top. There's a round wooden table and two chairs.

A table for two...

His eyes stray over to the large stove and the sink next to it. Specifically, the person standing in front of the sink with his back turned to Bill.

Bill swallows as he stares the man's back. He isn't quite sure, but eh's certain that this man is supposed to be Robert "Bob" Gray or Pennywise the Dancing Clown, considering his height, which Eddie had told him all about in graphic detail, as well as the dark brown hair. That and Bill was certain his face was painted white, just like a clown's, since his ears and what Bill could see of his jaw and even his neck looked to be painted white with greasepaint.

Only, he wasn't wearing the famous clown suit that Bill had expected to see.

Instead, the man is wearing black, expensive looking slacks with black dress shoes, what looks like a white, long-sleeved shirt, the sleeves rolled up and revealing his long arms, with a dark gray plaid sleeveless vest.

Bill isn't entirely sure as to why, but he feels quite uncomfortable. It isn't the same as the nightmare about Patrick or even last night with his dad, rather it feels... more dangerous... perhaps deadlier is the better word to use. Even though the man has his back turned to him, Bill still feels as though he's being watched.

"H-H-Huh-huh-hello?" Bill asks, stuttering out of nerves rather than his condition.

The man straightens up, standing upright, as though he hadn't heard Bill's footsteps when he entered the kitchen and was just now realizing there was someone behind him. Bill lets out a trembling gasp, feeling scared suddenly, when he realizes that this man is much taller than he is. Possibly even taller than his dad.

"That you, Billy?" the man asks, his voice quite deep.

Bill isn't sure, but he thinks the man is smiling.

At least, judging by the tone of the man's voice, he _thinks_ so.

The man turns and Bill lets out a soundless gasp.

His face is just as handsome as Eddie had described it, though not even Eddie's description compares to the clown's actual face, despite how creepy one particular part of it is. The high and and prominent cheekbones Eddie had gone into detail about, the defined jawline and the full lips, especially the lower one, a head full of soft looking, dark brown hair which is combed over to the left side of his head. Bill feels his knees quiver as he stares at the man's handsome face, seeing that it is indeed painted white, just like the picture Georgie had drawn, only there are no red facial markings that resemble a cheetah. Instead it's a red clown's smile that doesn't seem to fit this clown's face...

The eyes, however, are not at all how Eddie had described them. He had described them as a rich, happy, and deep blue, though one was lazier than the other, making him appear as though he was looking in two different directions. Georgie had said the very same. Only the eyes on this man's face, however, strike Bill as incredibly creepy, if not outright scary, because they aren't normal eyes at all. They're not even the eyes you'd see in or on a _human_ face. Rather, they're the kind of eyes you'd see on a _doll's_ face because both of them are _black buttons_.

But the eyes on the clown's face aren't at all shiny and shimmery like the button eyes on the dolls. They don't gleam at all under the lighting. Rather, the eyes seem rather dull and dim, almost dead.

"You're just in time for lunch, Billy," the man says, smiling at him, the red of his mouth stretching across his cheeks.

Bill stares at him, barely resisting the urge to shiver as those button eyes stare right at him, seemingly _into_ him, the clown's head tilted to the left as he grins at the boy.

"You're n-n-not... P-P-P-Puh-Puh-Puh," Bill greets his teeth, frustration bubbling over like a pot of boiling water. Especially with how the clown's grin widens. "He doesn't have b-b-buh --" he stammers, pointing to his own left eye.

"B-b-buh-buttons?" the clown mimics his stammering, though not mockingly or maliciously. The clown just chuckles slightly as he sets the plate in his hands down on the table. "Do you like them?" he asks, tapping his index finger to the left one.

Bill realizes then that the buttons are actually protruding out on his face, rather than being sunken in, giving them the appearance that they're merely sitting on the clown's eyelids and he doesn't even understand how the clown can _see_ him. It doesn't seem like he has actual eyes under the buttons, rather that the buttons are truly his eyes...

He also wonders why the hell he isn't running for his life right now, because every instinct in his body is urging him to. Every fiber of his own being is screaming at him to find Georgie and get out of here as fast as he can, because some part buried deep within him thinks he might not be able to if he doesn't soon...

It certainly doesn't help that the slashes on his arm are flaring up with pain, as though a fire is burning in his blood right under them, scalding his skin from underneath. Yet the scratches on his hip don't hurt at all...

"I'm the _Other_ Pennywise, silly Billy," the clown says, smiling a toothy smile.

Pearly white teeth.

Bill gives a shuddering gasp when he _thinks_ he sees sharp teeth quite like a predator's fangs protruding out of a painted lip, though it disappears just as quickly as he blinks...

He wonders if he's actually still standing in that bathroom, asleep while standing up, though he didn't think that was actually possible, or maybe he passed out on the bathroom floor or maybe he never woke up at all and he'll find himself in his bed with Georgie curled up next to him like a cuddly cat... or maybe the entire trip at the hospital didn't happen at all... or even the store for that matter... for all he knew, everything was one big, seriously messed up dream...

"Or the Other Robert," the clown says, still smiling, all of his teeth bared in a grin that screams predatory. Danger. Death. As though a hungry, bloodthirsty shark is grinning down at him. "Never the Other Bob, unless that suits you. Nobody but Billy gets a free pass on that."

Bill doesn't respond. The clown keeps staring at him, quite creepily, until a timer dings, making the boy jump.

"He had a pizza in the oven just for you," the clown says, raising a finger and turning to the stove, that same grin on his face. "Had a hunch that _you_ were _hungry_."

"Where's G-G-G-G-G-Guh --" Bill bites his lip as his face turns red out of embarrassment and frustration.

Mostly the latter.

"Guh-Guh-Guh-Georgie?" the clown says, placing an oven mitt that resembles a brightly colored clown on his head, the mouth painted the same, only two tufts of what Bill guessed was supposed to be orange hair sat on either side of its head. "He's having fun with Beverly and all of your little friends. That nasty Vic Criss won't lay a finger on him as long as he's here. They're having lunch right now, like you should be."

"Th-th-then I sh-sh-should p-p-puh-puh-probably g-go," Bill says, inching backwards and debating on running for it, though he's certain he could end up lost in the circus.

He blanches too when he sees what looks like a spaceship, speeding through the sky just outside of the kitchen window. It isn't even connected to a roller coaster track...

"Yeah, Stanley Boy's had his fun already," the clown says, catching his stare. "You should have seen his face light up when he saw the Milano. I think he'll make a great space outlaw one day, don't you?"

"Um... sure..." Bill says, trembling and hoping that Georgie wasn't on that thing. "I should go..."

"No, no, no, don't go! Stay! I insist!" the clown says, opening the oven and pulling out a large pizza.

Bill's mouth can't help but water as the smell of melting cheese and spices and cooked meat hits his nose. He could see pepperoni, sausage, bacon, and even ham decorating the pizza.

"It was made it special. It even has the cheese stuffed in the crust. One half is garlic and the other is ranch," the clown says, still smiling as he places the pizza on the table.

Bill's stomach, the traitor it was, growls hungrily, sounding like a monster (the clown's grin widens), making the boy flush with embarrassment. The clown places a hand next to his mouth, the back of it just brushing his lips.

"I think someone likes the sound of that," he whispers, grinning cheekily.

It is against Bill's better judgment, against the instincts buried deep within him that have risen to the surface to tell him this is a bad idea, he knows this even as he hesitantly approaches the clown, who grins broadly, widely, _hungrily_ , as Bill sits down, though the boy is surprised that the clown actually pulls out his seat for him and once Bill is sitting down, the clown pushes the chair back in so that Bill is sitting at the table.

Just like a gentleman.

Bill is still shaking as he watches the clown set a candelabrum with three candles in the middle of the table before snapping his fingers, a small flame flickering on his thumb and making Bill's eyes widen with shock, his lips parting, and the clown promptly uses his fiery thumb to light the candles.

It makes the light in the kitchen to become warm, illuminated with a golden glow that reminds him of home once more. He fails to realize that it's supposed to be a _romantic_ setting, or maybe he does realize that and he doesn't want to think about the implication or the commentary he would receive. Joking taunts from Richie and dirty ones from Bowers and his goons. He watches the clown take a spatula, twirl it between his long fingers, the flame disappearing from his thumb, not a burn in sight, and pull three slices of pizza for Bill before sitting down across from the boy, setting down the spatula and watching him with those button eyes.

A thought nags at the back of Bill's mind, forcing its way to the front.

"Ar-aren't y-y-you g-g-guh-going t-to e-eat?" Bill asks hesitantly, almost shyly.

The clown beams at him, still smiling quite widely, his lips pressed together in a rather thin line as he taps his long fingers on the tbale.

"Such a sweet and thoughtful boy, aren't you?" the clown asks, still smiling. "I'm quite alright for now. You're the one who looks quite dead on your feet. You were in there for quite some time."

Bill feels his face grow warm as his insides squirm with embarrassment.

"One might've thought you fell in," the clown says, a rather strange expression crossing his face.

Almost a look of reminisce, as though he's looking back on his memories and remembering them quite fondly.

"S-s-s-s-sorry," Bill stutters nervously, embarrassed.

The clown just clicks his tongue, still smiling.

"Well, eat up. You look like you could use some meat on your bones," the clown says, his smile stretching into another toothy grin.

Bill stares at him even as he takes a bite of the pizza, more than acutely aware of the clown's button eyes being focused on _him_. Particularly, on his _lips_.

It was like an explosion on his tongue, an avalanche of flavor. The cheese nearly melted in his mouth and the mix of pepperoni, bacon, sausage, and ham only added to it. It took all of his willpower, and self-preservation, not to shove the whole slice in instantly.

"Meaty tasting," the clown says, grinning a knowing grin.

Bill nods even though it wasn't a question, the boy distracted.

The clown watches with that same grin as Bill eats his way to his third slice. Bill was _starving_. It was one of the best things he'd ever eaten, and he wasn't the one who had made it... only to have it insulted by his dad...

"Hungry, aren't you?" the clown asks, rubbing his hands together as he sees Bill eyeing the pizza still, the boy having eaten all three slices.

Bill nods, still embarrassed but still hungry.

"If you want, I could cook you up some rolls. Sweet peas. Perhaps some corn on the cob?" the clown offers. "It's to _die_ for."

Bill shakes his head, though he lowers his eyes. The clown merely chuckles knowingly, shaking his hand dismissively.

"Have all the slices you want, Billy. It was made just for you," the clown says.

Bill's ears grow hot even as he takes another slice. And then another. And another.

"Thirsty?" the clown asks.

Bill stares at him, still shy.

"D-d-d-do you have w-w-w-water?" he asks, just as shyly.

The clown just laughs again.

"There's a circus in the backyard with all kinds of tooth-rotting, _fattening_ \--" the clown's tongue runs over its lower lip, Bill unsure how to feel about it, "-- sugary drinks and food, and you ask for water. You either really do care about your teeth, or you're --" the clown bares his teeth into another toothy grin, "-- _shy_."

Bill stares curiously at him as the clown sticks his hands up, the boy realizing he was wearing silky white gloves, kind of like the ones Mickey Mouse always wore, rather than the ones Eddie and Georgie had described, and the clown presses his palms together, the back of his hand touching the table. The clown's grin widens as he lifts his other hand up and Bill watches, surprised and awed, as the hands separate and in between them, seemingly manifested out of thin air or even by magic, a can of Coca Cola appears between them, held up by the hand against the table. The clown grabs it with his other hand and pushes it towards Bill, offering it out to him.

"How'd you do that?" Bill asks, his trembling fingers taking the pop.

"Magic, silly Billy," the clown says, still grinning. "Eddie doesn't believe in it. That's why I made sure he went on the bus ride with Richie. Of course, Connor still doesn't believe in it either. And he's already gone on that thing three times. I think the hired hand is getting sick of him to be honest."

"Bus ride?" Bill asks, cracking open the can, faintly surprised that not a single drop of it splatters out at him.

"Uh huh," the clown says. "You know how it goes. Not exactly sure why they called it _Freddy's **Revenge**_ , considering he dies again at the end anyway," the clown says, though he looks thoughtful and then smiles again. "Despite the cliffhanger at the end. And _Dream Warriors_ , of course."

"Oh," Bill says, understanding what the clown was saying. He had seen the movies. "They're not..."

He trails off, hesitant. The clown just smiles at him, knowing.

"Illusions... right?" he asks, pointing at the can of pop.

"What do you think, Billy?" the clown asks, his smile turning creepy again.

Bill has an idea as to what that means, and actually finds the idea of Eddie and Richie on such a bus, which is probably just being rocked back and forth with someone using props to make lightning and thunder sounds, using mirrors and all other kinds of illusion tricks, to make them think they're actually on a horror bus. He can't imagine how terrified they must be, or how bored they must be. He actually smiles at the idea of Richie and Eddie actually panicking, though it dims when he thinks that Georgie could be on that bus.

"Oh, turn that frown upside down, Billy," the clown says. "I know what you're thinking," he says, tapping his fingers to the table again. "Eddie wouldn't let Georgie on the bus, knowing you wouldn't like it. Georgie's having, shall we say, a spot of tea with the old ladies. Well, he _will_ have one. I know Beverly's with him."

"How do you know that?" Bill asks, warily.

If he was in the kitchen, how could he possibly know that? Unless all of that had already happened and Bill managed to miss it...

"Oh, Billy, I know all kinds of things," the clown says, the tapping becoming more forceful. So did his grin. "I know that Mikey won't go into the petting zoo because of the sheep, but he just loves that football he _just_ won by throwing darts. And Gretta definitely loves her new sock puppet. She's just decided on his name. Mr. Fizzles... oh, and how Stanley is just loving the view from outer space."

"Oh, cool," Bill says quietly, unsure of how to feel about what the clown was telling him.

They have to be illusions or really carefully crafted rides, because the mansion itself was huge. He knew the backyard was as well, but something wasn't added up. He did see the spaceship, but it didn't appear to be attached to a roller coaster track. Unless that was just another illusion, which made sense... but about Mike and Gretta... the clown was speaking as though he was talking to Bill while watching everything happen outside...

Unless the clown was just messing with him. That made sense, too... he guessed.

"S-so..." Bill trails off, unsure of what to say as the clown continues to stare at him, that same creepy smile on his face as he repeatedly taps his fingers against the table. "... w-w-why N-N-Nuh-Neibolt?"

The clown just chuckles once more.

"Why not?" he asks. "As Eddie and Stanley agreed, it was very cheap, very easy to get."

"W-w-w-wouldn't it c-cost a l-l-luh-lot to r-r-rebuild it?" Bill couldn't help but ask.

"You're very inquisitive," the clown says, still smiling. "I like that."

Bill was certain this wasn't exactly true, but he didn't call the clown out on it and he didn't press the matter.

"I sh-should get g-g-g-going," Bill says hesitantly.

Mostly, he just wants to find Georgie.

"Leaving so soon? I thought you and I could play a game. Games are fun, especially when you have to use your brain to play it," the clown says, still grinning as he tilts his head to the left again.

"Th-th-thank y-y-you b-b-b-buh-but I h-h-have to f-f-fuh-find G-G-G-Guh-Georgie," Bill says.

He isn't sure why, but he doesn't feel very... safe. Every hair on his body is standing up, the same feeling of being watched striking him like lightning, more than just the fact that the clown is currently staring at him, and his stomach feels hollow and like lead at the same time, his feet the very same, while a coldness is sweeping over him. It is not yet an arctic coldness, but it is definitely a chill that is rattling his bones. Either way, it's something dangerous... possibly deadly...

It isn't the same as what happened with Patrick or even his dad, rather it feels as though he's the meek rabbit about to be devoured by the ravenous wolf... again.

The clown frowns, his lower lip jutting out into a pout.

"You are no fun, Billy," the clown says, though he still smiles once more. "Well, if you ask me, you should stop worrying so much about Georgie and worry more about your arm."

"How the hell did you --" Bill starts to ask, not even stuttering, as his eyes widen and his lips part, shocked.

The slashes in his arm positively _flare_ with pain at the clown's words, making him grab it out of instinct, though it causes the wounds to pulse under his fingers as well. He misses the smugness flash across the clown's grin, quick as lightning.

"Billy, Billy, Billy. It's a small town. Small town, big rumors, fast spread," the clown says, clicking his tongue. "Admittedly, it's because Mikey and Beverly were talking about it. They're very worried about you, you know. So much, that she's kind of ignored Ben after promising him a date."

Bill frowns, lowering his eyes, unsure whether or not he should be embarrassed or feel awkward. He misses the complete and utter smugness of the clown's grin as his button eyes glance at the boy's arm, which is still bandaged underneath his sleeve.

Wounds that would become scars that would most likely never fade.

"So, any big plans for Robert's circus, Billy?" the clown asks. "There's all kinds of fun rides, carnival games, so many prizes to pick, all kinds of movies to watch, the petting zoo, the mirror house, the aquarium, and so many other things. There's all sorts of surprises. And balloons, too. All colors. They _float_."

Bill can't help but stare at him curiously, missing the last part of his sentence.

"You have a movie theater?" he asks.

"Theater _s_ ," the clown corrects him. "Any movie you want to watch, whenever you want to watch it."

A clock chimes somewhere. Bill doesn't see the clock, so he doesn't know there are thirteen hours instead of only twelve on it. The clown's smile dims.

"Well, you'd better run along. I'd hoped you stay for... _dessert_..." he says, smiling that same creepy smile again, "... but I guess that'll have to wait. You better not miss the show. I know Robert will be very upset if you do."

A question prickles Bill's thoughts as the clown stares at him, not even moving with that same creepy, almost demented, grin on his face. He was certain that the clown wasn't actually _breathing_.

"Wh-wh-why do y-y-you h-h-huh-have b-b-b-buh-buh-buh --" he grits his teeth, his cheeks turning red as he tries to force out the word, but it seems to get stuck in his throat.

The clown just gives him a chuckle, but it is clearly humorless.

"That's a story for another time, Billy, but I assure you," the clown says, giving him a strange, almost wicked grin, "you'll see, in time," he says, pointing at the door that leads back into the living room. "You better run along now. You've got some time to see the sights before the show starts. Watch out for Cujo though, the little guy that jumped Richie. He's a biter. I'll make sure one of the little fellows returns your doll and your... _gift_."

"Oh," Bill says, now realizing he left both upstairs in the bathroom, his cheeks growing warm again. "Th-th-th-thank y-y-you."

The clown just gives him that familiarly creepy grin as Bill hesitantly stands, his entire body trembling like a leaf as he walks towards the door. He has the distinct feeling he's making a mistake by turning his back on the clown as he walks awy.

"Oh, and Billy," the clown says, Bill hesitantly turning back to look at him.

The clown is looking directly at him, a strange glint in his button eyes, though they still lack the usual shine and shimmer and even gleam of the ones on the dolls. The same dead look, but something much more dark, perhaps even sinister, lingers on the clown's face.

"Our little secret, but you and your friends and your brother are welcome to _my_ circus," the clown says, smiling. "The ladies, Kersh and Kersh, will be delighted to meet you, the boys, too," he says, his cheeks stretching as his grin does, the latter ear to ear as he taps his index finger to his neck, just as the ticket seller had. "In the attic and in the basement."

He presses a finger to his lips, still smiling as Bill turns away once more, walking out of the kitchen, the door shutting itself behind him.

The clown taps his fingers against the table, though claws, black as ebony, tap the wood instead of human fingers, scratching along the surface and leaving behind claw marks. Deep gouges. Almost identical to the slashes on Bill's arm, which flare up with pain once more, the boy wincing. The flames on the candles flicker as the shadows they cast flicker and distort, the clown's own face flickering like television static.

For the brief second that the clown's face distorts and changes into static, the keenest eye would spot the fact that it was void of light and that sharp teeth, pale as ivory and impossibly large, formed in its mouth as its cheeks stretched out into an angry, maddened grin. The clown's face flickered back into its painted, button-eyed self, though the sharp teeth stayed, the clown's mouth stretched far beyond what could be considered normal and into a painful looking grin, its jaw contorted and elongated.

"See you soon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Chapter thirteen is on the way!  
> \- Let me know how it was in the comment section below! Sorry about any typos!  
> \- Thanks again everybody for every comment and kudo left on this story! It means a lot!  
> 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Chapter thirteen!  
> \- I don't know why, but this one was kind of a pain in the ass to write! Ah, well, here it is!  
> \- Major warning for bullying, kind of Slut Shaming even though we all know that's inaccurate, and it gets physical. Just not in the way you're probably expecting ;)  
> \- Sorry again for any typos. I try to get all of them but they keep getting through. I go back, edit, save and then they're all: Here's Typo!  
> \- Special guest stars!  
> \- Sorry about the long wait btw  
> \- Let me know how it was in the comments below!  
> \- "It feels like somebody..."

Bill sighs as he walks away from the kitchen, walking into the living room, the hairs on the back of his neck still prickled as though he's being watched even though the kitchen door is shut and the clown hasn't made a peep since he walked out of the room. Then again, Bill doesn't feel that awkward, uncomfortable feeling he was getting around the clown, like a prey being hunted by a predator. He doesn't feel that coldness sweeping over him, nor does he feel that chill running down his bones and rattling him to his very core. Instead, there's something rather warm about being in the living room...

He feels like he's at home... a real home, not just a house...

A cooing sound, quite like a happy little bird's, at his feet makes him look down, the boy blinking with surprise as he sees the Demogorgon, Cujo, sniffing at his feet again, the flesh on the tip of its pointed face rippling as it does. He can see sharp little teeth, white as pearls, just jutting out from between the pink of the inside of its mouth and the gray of the outside of it. The blackness of its burnt and scarred flesh.

He's pawing at the laces of Bill's sneakers and even twirling one quite contentedly with his long finger, albeit confusedly. As though the creature is happy to see him, but still confused in regards to something in particular.

Curiosity gets the better of Bill as he bends down to look at the little creature, who in turn rubs his bald head against Bill's knee, chattering like a little monkey, quite excitedly, before purring like a cat.

Bill figures that Eddie is right about it being an animatronic, though he does wonder who the hell has an animatronic Demogorgon for what appears to be a house pet, rather than a movie monster, yet he cannot help but place his hand on its head, smiling slightly at the pleased rumble he hears, as though he's petting the little creature and then Bill frowns.

The flesh feels _warm_.

It doesn't feel warm or even hot like a machine about to overheat, and obviously it isn't cold because it's a machine with all kinds of metal and wiring inside of it. And with the way it coos so happily, nuzzling him like a little baby or even a cuddly kitten, he has the weird feeling he's either missing something (it may even be that he's being screwed with, like Eddie) or it isn't an animatronic at all... especially when he touches his fingers to its chest and feels a _heartbeat_...

Puppetry certainly wouldn't explain _that_ , he thinks.

Bill shakes his head even as Cujo stands up, like a small child, and starts squishing his cheeks as he did with Richie. The elongated hands also feel quite warm rather than cold, and it feels like actual flesh. Bill guesses that Mr. Gray, Pennywise, simply enjoys making the kids wonder about things. Eddie especially. It was obvious, too, that Pennywise was enjoying teasing him about the Unicorn, Bill quickly realizing that Eddie was right when he said the clown wasn't present for that conversation and there's no way somebody told him about it...

His point is, it's probably a very elaborate prank. Or he's still missing something.

He knows that Richie likes to tease Eddie all the time, Pennywise the very same, so maybe Bill isn't an exception either. Though, Richie teases Eddie for a totally different reason. Being the boy pulling the girl's pigtails, of course. Pennywise just does it because it amuses him, he guesses.

Bill stands up, Cujo squawking unhappily before going back down on four legs and scurrying away like an overly large, four-legged spider, and disappearing underneath the couch, grumbling as he does. Bill heads for the door as this happens, hoping that Georgie didn't run off away from Beverly as he did to Bill.

The clown, Robert or Pennywise, or Other Robert or Other Pennywise (that was going to get real old, real fast, Bill thought), said that Georgie was having lunch with Beverly and their friends. Then he said that Georgie was still with Beverly and having a spot of tea with the old ladies... Bill frowns even as his hand reaches for the door.

Unless the clown had purposefully asked the "old ladies" to invite Beverly and Georgie to have tea with them... how could the clown possibly know that if it was happening while he was in the kitchen with Bill? Not only that, but the way he had spoken, using the word 'just' more than once, and with such emphasis, as though on purpose, made it seem like he knew what was going on as it was happening...

Bill sighs, feeling as though the whole of Derry was hellbent on turning his rational and coherent thoughts upside down (Cujo squawks again from under the couch), and begins to turn the knob...

A giggling, high-pitched and girly, childish in sound, like the joyous laughter of a little girl... no... no... _two_ little girls... makes Bill stop in his tracks, because it sounds as though it's _right by his feet_. He looks down, seeing nothing there, and quickly turns around to see the back of what looks like a very small child in a pale, ruffled outfit running away into the living room, disappearing from his view as it hides under the couch, little white boots disappearing into the shadows. He knows it was definitely a flash of ginger, like hair, and white clothing...

He swallows nervously, debating.

His curiosity (the damnable thing) wants him to go and look to see who it was, because he was certain it was a little girl who had giggled, though he thought he had heard _two_ of them... but this place was still not his house, so he shouldn't be snooping around... and he has to find Georgie anyway...

He already feels as though he overstepped his boundaries with the incident in the bathroom...

Bill's lips twitch as he starts to smile, hearing more giggling. Definitely two of them and definitely hiding under the couch.

An air of playfulness surrounds him like a warm aura. It's actually quite comforting. Yet he shakes his head once more, turning the knob, even as he feels the eyes watching him, most likely peeking out from underneath the couch...

 _It feels like somebody_...

He wants to look back, the moment reminding him of hide and seek mixed with peekaboo, but he doesn't. He turns the knob, hearing it click and he walks out of the house, unaware of the deep blue eyes staring happily at him as they peer over the couch, not out from underneath it, along with a pair of greenish blue eyes as the door shuts behind Bill, clicking shut.

Tiny little fingers wearing silky white clown gloves are holding the back of the couch. So are elongated, charred over, pointed fingers.

"Now?"

"Not yet."

"I really thought we were going have a thing right there."

"I know, me too."

Bill, on the other side of the door, lets go of the knob. Shockingly, he feels a whole lot better than he has in quite some time. He definitely feels fuller in his stomach, having nearly eaten the entire pizza on his own, a large no less, and he knows he needs to start eating more than just peaches and small things or he's going to end up falling over instead of just standing in place for quite some time... He sighs.

Bill --

\-- blinks.

He blinks again as he feels his eyes widen against his will, an almost childlike sort of wonder he hasn't had in a while sparkling in the pale depths of his eyes as he listens to the upbeat carnival music blasting all around him, reminding him of older sorts of circuses, and he would swear to God that the music sounds so _familiar_.

He _knows_ that music, but he can't quite place it.

Like a dream he can reach, but not quite hold.

He can see cannons lined up on both sides of him, all of them made of a dark brown wood with red triangles painted on the open ends of them, gold lining the red triangles. Little pedals are attached to the fronts of them, though he isn't so sure he really wants to see what will pop out when he steps on the pedal, though he does have an idea considering the sugary sweet smell coming from them... and when he sees the popcorn makers, the sweet and buttery smell filling his nose, he can't help but laugh slightly.

Another thing he hasn't done in a while. Except for when he's with Georgie.

Instead of the usual, maybe even standard, glass box with the pot and butter and salt, with someone running it, it's large metal chickens running themselves.

The beaks are pecking at the containers full of popcorn kernels and once they pecked enough, the tails on the chickens went up and the popcorn fell out of their backsides, falling into the jumbo sized bags underneath. What was weird, Bill thought, was the fact that the jumbo bags were filled instantly even though he saw only a few pieces of popcorn fall in. The chickens cluck as the popcorn falls out of their metallic, glowing bodies, the bags attached to a spinning wheel.

He doesn't question it, but he does have a feeling that Richie already made his commentary on the popcorn makers.

Bill can't help but take a bag though, unable to remember the last time he had popcorn. Especially, as he pops a couple into his mouth, popcorn so buttery and salty and _delicious_ , even as the butter and salt sticks to his fingers. Yet he doesn't even feel any of the kernels getting stuck, quite annoyingly, between his teeth. He keeps eating it, staring around curiously as he uncharacteristically starts to stuff his cheeks like a chipmunk, dare say excitedly, as he gazes upon the circus that has been the talk of the town for _months_.

He sees all kinds of carnival rides. A Ferris wheel and a carousel, the latter making him laugh again because instead of the traditional brightly colored horses with saddles, it's a bunch of pure, snowy white Unicorns with sparkling glitter on the horns and no saddles at all. He isn't sure, because maybe it's his eyes playing tricks on him, but he thought he saw one move its horn towards a kid that reached for it.

Threateningly, of course.

Other rides include a Zipper, a Tilt-a-Whirl, a swing ride, bumper cars that have horror movie monsters and killers painted on the fronts of them, like Pinhead and Chucky, Freddy Krueger and Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers and even Leatherface, Dracula and even a Werewolf, Frankenstein and a few others.

The one that really sticks out to Bill is the one painted like a clown, like the doll from upstairs. Red hair and bloodshot eyes, red lipstick and white face, and all. Only, the irises are bright yellow instead of a normal eye color and instead of flat teeth, it's a bunch of elongated and sharp, dangerous looking ones.

Monster teeth. And to match, an evil grin.

It sticks out, more than the rest, though Bill continues to look around even as he feels those eyes on him again.

There are all kinds of roller coasters and other kinds of rides, two in particular shaped like space ships, one of them the one Bill saw flying outside of the window. They both have signs next to them, the blue one with the orange marks next to a sign that says "the Milano" and the other is "the Benatar" and he wonders briefly if Stan is still on them and hopes to God that Georgie isn't. He then sees an actual school bus off to the side next to it that says, "Freddy's Party Bus!"

There are slash marks embedded deep into the wood, stretching across the white words. It's a little creepy in his opinion, but he guesses that's the point. He then wonders if the blades on the ticket seller's glove are actually real, and then figures they probably were. He guesses it just has to be for authenticity. He'll give the clown, and the ticket seller, credit for that.

There are multiple food stands, dozens of them, for hotdogs and pizza, burgers and shakes, with actual fast food spots, including a McDonald's (run by a creepy looking Ronald McDonald, no less) and a Burger King and many more, others with elephant ears and slushy makers, all of which were run by little men with brown skin and black hair and rather masculine faces. It shocks Bill just how little the men really are, looking as though they were even smaller than Georgie.

Some of them are wearing skin tight, bright red suits, while others are wearing black ones. Some are wearing little tuxedos and a few are wearing clown suits. Multi-patterned with triangular green frills, though they aren't wearing clown makeup. They all smile and wave cheerfully at him, their greeting quite warm, as he stares at them and he can't help but give small, almost shy, waves right back.

He wonders then if they're supposed to be the Oompa Loompas, but they're missing the green hair and the orange skin, and they're a lot skinnier than the ones from the movie... and the suits aren't right, either.

Bill shrugs it off as he sees a train ride, with an actual train instead of a little toy one, the sign next to it reading, "Terror Train! Way better than Jamie Lee Curtis!" as well as multiple pavilions where kids were eating and drinking the unhealthy, _fattening_ (the mental image of the clown licking his lower lip, almost hungrily, comes back, quite creepily) foods and drinks. He finds it kind of sad that there are multiple garbage cans right inside of the pavilions as well as outside of them, and yet there are still some of the little men cleaning up scraps and wrappers that were left on the tables and even thrown on the ground.

Bill shakes his head as something catches his eye. Only, it's _above his head_.

He looks up then, seeing a trapeze far, far above the circus with two clowns, one that was wearing the suit Georgie and Eddie had described, the former having drawn it to show Bill, and the other was wearing the same suit as the clown doll from upstairs, both throwing themselves back and forth. The only difference was, the clown in the white suit looked like he had fluffy, spiked up ginger hair and a rather bulbous head, rather than the handsome face that Bill had scene in the kitchen, even if that clown had given him the creeps.

Thoroughly.

Sometimes the ginger-haired clown would catch the red-haired one, and other times the red-haired one would catch the ginger one, both of them propelling themselves into the air and doing strange and complicated looking maneuvers with their long limbs that seemed to bend them into odd shapes... their limbs long quite like the legs of giant spiders...

A white gloved hand waves down at him, Bill gasping as he sees the clown in the white suit grinning down at him. Only, his eyes still aren't the same cheerful blue that Georgie had described and drawn and Eddie had gone into graphic detail about.

They were _yellow_.

Bill stares up at the two clowns as the red-haired one seems to notice his presence, and he sees, with a start, that his eyes are also yellow. A dark almost _ominous_ shade instead of a bright, cheerful one. The both of them.

They both wave down at him even as they catch each other in midair.

He looks away, blinking as he spots the entrance to a petting zoo, as well as a container seemingly as big as the mansion itself, if not bigger, in the far background, far behind even the Ferris wheel, though Bill could see it was clearly filled with water and all kinds of fish that he had seen in pictures, though he was certain these fish were much _larger_ than the ones from the books.

The piranhas especially.

And the shark, which seemed more than massive in size. It was, dare say, _colossal_.

Bill guesses it to be more illusions, tricks on the eyes because there is no way fish can actually get that big, sharks or piranhas or even that Merman he was pretty sure he just saw hiss at Dorsey from the other side of the glass, unless it's merely some well thought out reference to some monster movie Bill has yet to see.

He shrugs it off as he gazes about the carnival games and the available prizes. He can't help but notice all of the balloons for the dart games are pale colored, blue and pink, green and yellow.

There are all kinds of stuffed toys, action figures as well as comic books, such as _The Guardians of the Galaxy_ and _Captain Marvel_ as well as _X-Men_ (Bill's eyes linger longingly on that one in particular) all of them looking to be brand new, in mint condition, even, as well as _Creepshow_ comic books and even actual books like the _Nancy Drew_ stories and a few others, including _The Chronicles of Narnia_. There are even actual movies as prizes, including _Evil Dead_ and the _Nightmare on Elm Street_ movies (mostly horror but he does see at least two Jim Henson ones) and a few others, but his eyes linger on the giant sea turtle plush he sees.

It makes his lips twitch as he smiles, seeing its black but shiny eyes staring right back at him. They aren't buttons, but instead look to be shimmering plastic ones with actual color to them, brown rather than black, actually, an almost earthy color...

He wonders if he can win it for Georgie...

He isn't sure, but he thinks too that he sees the sea turtle _smiling back at him_.

A warm and _maternal_ smile...

Sweet and _motherly_...

There are balloons all over the place, some tied to the stands and others to the signs. More pink and blue, green and yellow, though there are deep red ones, quite the contrast to the pale ones. The red balloons have white arrows painted on them, pointing in different directions that Bill figures must lead to the big show the Other Pennywise was talking about...

He still doesn't understand how the clown could have _seen_ him with those buttons over his eyes... unless the buttons really _were_ his eyes... neither make very much sense in Bill's opinion...

Not only that, but how did the clown know that it was him upstairs? That it was him that had walked into the kitchen? Unless, of course, the ticket seller had told him about Bill going upstairs... but some part of him didn't _think_ so...

Bill chooses not to focus on that, however. He instead focuses on the entrance to what looks to be a mirror house, the entrance being a large wooden clown's mouth, the entrance painted red and white... the mouth of it, the inside, was spinning... spiraling...

His head suddenly pulses and throbs, as though he's been struck upside the head, the bag of popcorn slipping from his fingers as he drops it, and he gives a sharp, pained gasp as something flashes before his eyes...

The scenery, like back in the store, is changing between standing in the circus and standing in a mirror house, like how it had swapped between falling in the grocery store and the sewer...

A dark mirror house... the lights are flickering above his head... dark and light...

... light into dark...

... Bill's reflection is staring right back at him in a dirtied mirror... grinning wickedly... ominous yellow eyes staring back at him... _glowing_... his teeth razor sharp... white gloved hands on either side of the glass... the mirror... it's _Bill's_ face... but it _isn't_...

Bill isn't sure, but he suddenly feels as though he's reliving a bad experience with a mirror house... a really bad case of deja vu... and as he promises himself that he is not going in there, he can't help but realize he can't recall a time that he was ever in a mirror house before...

... so...

... why was he getting flashes of being in one?

... his thoughts seemingly replaying a memory long forgotten... forcing it to the top... as though he's having a nightmare...

There's an adult man... with dark brown hair and pale blue eyes, just like Bill's, walking around the mirror house, fear and hope muddied together on his face... somehow Bill knows the man is looking for the little boy he just saw walk through the mirrors... but as the man searches, another man... in a clown suit, his face made up as a clown, walks where the little boy has just gone... grinning... but...

... something doesn't feel quite right...

... something is _wrong_...

The scene replays itself, only it's slightly different than the first...

Another adult man... with black, slightly curly, hair and dark brown eyes... weirdly resembling what Bill thinks Stan would look like if he was older... walking through the mirrors, fear -- no, _terror_ \-- and yet hope muddied together on his face... Bill knows this man is looking for the very same little boy... the man in the clown suit, the very same clown, walks where the little boy has just gone... grinning...

... only...

... in his large gloved hand is the smaller one of a teenage boy, also dressed in a clown suit, though his is more brightly colored than the man's, his face made up like a clown's, too, but slightly different...

... one clown grins in wicked delight... one clown trembles in petrified fear...

... it's _Bill's_ face, _his_ terrified face made up as a clown's... but it _isn't_...

... dark into light... light into dark...

... _light_... _into_... _dark_...

"Hello."

Bill jumps, the strange thoughts and visions (hallucinations, maybe? Bill thinks that makes sense, loathe as he is to admit something like that), and he feels as though his bones have just popped out of his skin with the force of the start, like a cartoon character, when he hears an unfamiliar voice.

That of a little girl.

Or maybe it is familiar, and he just can't quite place it at the moment.

Only, when he quickly looks around, his head almost snapping from side to side, he doesn't see anybody in front of him... or behind him... or beside him...

Another voice speaks. Another little girl. Also unfamiliar but somehow familiar at the same time.

A memory he can't quite recall...

"Down here."

Bill looks down at the words, down at his feet, and blinks with surprise when he sees two little girls.

One of them is holding his popcorn and munching away at it quite happily, her cheeks puffed out with how much she's shoving in. By the tiny fist fulls. He recognizes the one with the short but fluffy ginger hair and the deep blue eyes immediately, because this was the little girl, in the very same clown suit as Pennywise, vaguely Elizabethan, that had been on the TV this morning.

Her face is even still painted the very same, each inch of visible skin covered in white greasepaint and her lips painted red, the red paint on her face starting just from above her eyebrows and going all the way down her cheeks, stopping at the corners of her smiling mouth. The tip of her little button nose is also painted red, rather than having a red ball on it like most clowns... Georgie was right, she really _does_ look just like Pennywise, only with ginger hair instead of dark brown...

She's the one eating Bill's popcorn, and looking very pleased with the fact.

The second little girl is a brunette, her hair slightly longer, less boyish than the first little girl's, sweeping down to her shoulders, wearing a baggy, brightly colored jumpsuit with purple and teal accents on the puffy sleeves. Just like the first little girl, there are starched white ruffles around her neck, though this one's are white on the top and the bottom, with the middle ruffle being striped purple and teal just like the sleeves. Her face is also painted white, though she has a red ball on her nose and her lips are painted red. Her eyes are a bluish green. She's wearing funny clown shoes, though they look to be just the right size for her tiny feet. It's the very same clown suit as the doll's from upstairs...

Both girls are wearing silky white gloves.

Clown's gloves.

"Hello," the ginger-haired one repeats, grinning up at him.

Her tiny mouth is full of little teeth, already stained yellow from the butter and Bill can see the popcorn sticking out from between them, a tiny pink tongue licking it away.

He stares down at them, blinking, his mind seemingly unable to comprehend what exactly he was seeing even though this seemed like the most ordinary thing he had seen since the last day of school. Yet his mind his a jumble of thoughts even as they both smile cheerfully up at him, their smiles matching like a pair of shoes. Neither one looks to be any older than a toddler, perhaps even younger than that. Possibly two, maybe even three years old. Either way, they're clearly too young to be walking alone and from what Bill can see, he's the only older kid near them.

He still doesn't even see any actual adults, save for the little men, though they're all working rather than watching these two little kids. He doesn't even see the ticket seller anymore...

"I said 'hello'," the ginger-haired one says, still smiling up at him as she continues eating the popcorn, her white glove not even getting dirty while her teeth do.

"You smell funny," the brunette says, staring up at him curiously.

Bill frowns as he looks around, seeing that nobody else is by the mansion. The only people he can see are the little men running the stands as the kids of Derry play the games, ride the rides, slam the bumper cars into each other, quite viciously, actually, and having the times of their lives...

... all while these two have seem to have nobody with them... not even an older sibling.

Guilt slides like a knife between Bill's ribs as he remembers October.

"Wh-Wh-Wh-Where are y-y-your p-p-p-puh-puh-parents?" Bill asks, stuttering as he still looks around for an actual adult.

Even the ticket seller.

Since both girls are dressed as clowns, and he didn't see them outside with the kids from Derry, he figures their parents, or maybe their parent, has to be one of the circus workers. Maybe even one of the clowns above their heads, though when Bill looks back up he quickly sees that both have disappeared from the trapeze...

As though they were never really there at all...

"They're at home," the ginger one says delightedly.

"W-W-Wh-Wh-Why are y-y-y-you h-h-here? Sh-Sh-Shouldn't y-y-you b-b-buh-buh-be at h-home t-too?" Bill asks.

"We are at home," the brunette says.

"Daddy is working," the ginger says.

"Mama is sleeping," the brunette adds.

Both beam up at him.

Bill, however, frowns even more deeply despite the evident cheerfulness on the little girl's faces. It'd be endearing, if he didn't like the idea of two very little children having nobody watching them.

"B-But y-y-you're all alone," he says quietly, a strange feeling in his stomach.

At least Georgie has Beverly, Eddie, Stan, Ben, Mike, and Richie. Or maybe just Beverly, but still. He has _somebody_. These two clearly have nobody watching them...

"No, we're not," the ginger says. "We're with each other. And with you."

"So, if we're with each other, and you, we're not alone at all," the brunette says.

Their tones are both pleasant, as though they're enjoying themselves, and quite intelligent.

Bill can't stop his lips from twitching in faint amusement, even though he still doesn't approve of the idea of two little kids running around the circus on their own. He sort of doubts that there are any actual creeps roaming about, since you could only get in if you had a doll, and only the kids were getting them, but there is still Bowers and his goons and other mean kids... like Gretta and her friends and a few others he can think of... he doesn't even let Georgie go out alone anymore, especially since October, and Georgie is _seven_ , almost eight... not two, _maybe_ three...

The girls remind him of twins, the kind that are so alike that they can finish each others' sentences or even talk in perfect sync, though they look nothing alike except for the shapes of their little faces, round and heart-shaped, with chubby little cheeks, and the little button noses that actually remind him of Georgie. He still doesn't think it's right that two very small children are wandering about on their own, even if they have each other, and even if they say that this is their home.

He does doubt that Bowers or even Gretta would hurt two _very_ little kids, but after Vic's threat towards Georgie... and Bill has had firsthand experience with Bowers' bullying... and heard of Gretta's...

"Y-Y-Y-You sh-should f-f-fuh-fuh-find y-your p-p-puh-puh-parents," Bill says quietly.

He can't help his concern.

"Not much of a find if you already know where they're at," the brunette says.

"Can't say the same, can they?" the ginger says, grinning now.

"If one of them knows, then that's fine," the brunette says.

They share a small smile as well as a look, the latter which Bill is certain is a look of _knowing_. It reminds him weirdly of the clown in the kitchen, but not at the same time. He then wonders if that's actually their father, despite the oddness of his eyes.

He bends down, getting onto his knees, so that he's almost eye level with them.

 ** _Almost_**.

They're that _tiny_... that little...

"We are not tiny," the brunette says, jutting her lower lip out into a pout.

It reminds him even more of the Other Pennywise... but not at the same time... and he's certain he's seen that pout somewhere else before, but he can't quite recall...

"You are just a giant," the ginger says.

Bill blinks, realizing what they just said, as he looks between the two of them. His cheeks turn warm with embarrassment even though he's certain he had only _thought_ that... not actually _said_ it...

"Eyes give things away," the ginger says, pointing her tiny right finger at her own eye and smiling up at him.

"That means two things," the brunette adds, her pout turning into a smile.

"S-S-Sorry," Bill says, still staring between the two of them.

They are both so familiar... but as he tries to rack his brain for the memory of where he might have met them, he draws a blank. It's like a thick veil drops over his eyes, a thick fog clouding his memories.

"H-How old are y-you?"

"I'm older than her," the ginger says, pointing at the brunette.

"Five minutes," the brunette says, her smile turning into that full lower lip pout again.

"Ten," the ginger says.

Smugly.

Bill can't help but smile again at their antics. They seem rather... different... than normal little kids... Not in a bad way, but for kids so small, they seem to have a rather strong vocabulary and seem quite smart. They just seem to be so young, the age when they would first be learning to say words and put them together to make sentences. They even speak quite fluently, not at all choppily and they aren't babbling babble that only babies can understand.

"You're looking for someone," the ginger says.

Smartly.

"Y-Yeah," Bill says quietly. "C-C-C-Can... d-d-d-do e-e-either of y-you kn-kn-nuh-know w-where G-G-Georgie is?"

"I'm right here," the ginger says excitedly, dropping the now empty jumbo sized bag and grabbing Bill's arm with her little hands, wrapping her little arms around the limb.

Bill notices that her hands and even her arms, even with the soft gloves and the suit on, the ruffles on the sleeves tickling Bill's wrists, feel quite cold. Her smile, however, is very warm. He stares curiously at her.

"Y-Y-You're n-n-nuh-name is G-G-Georgie?" he asks.

He can't help but wonder if it's supposed to be short for Georgina or Georgette.

"Uh huh," she says happily as the brunette grabs his other arm, her gloves and suit also feeling soft and yet quite cold at the same time. Her smile also quite warm. "After our uncle. And she's Roberta."

"After daddy," Roberta says, giving him an equally happy grin.

Bill can't help it. He smiles again, too. He isn't sure what it is exactly, but something about the girls, their cheerfulness, like an aura almost, rolling off them in waves, is making him actually feel happy. It's as though he can't not be cheerful himself when around them. It's actually a lot like when he's with Georgie, _his_ Georgie, especially when Georgie is trying to cheer him up after a particularly bad day.

The slashes on his arm pulses with pain, though it's lessened significantly.

They both really remind him of Georgie, actually. _His_ Georgie.

"D-D-D-Do y-you kn-knuh-know w-where G-G-Georgie D-Denb-brough is?"

He isn't exactly sure as to why he would ask two tiny little children, vastly more intelligent than average or not, but judging by the smile on their faces, he guesses they _do_ know. And the fact that Georgie, this Georgie, knew he was looking for someone was another clear indication they were smarter than they looked. Not only that but if the ticket seller knew about Georgie, giving him the chocolate bar "Mr. Gray" had saved just for him, then he guesses everyone working in this circus knows about him.

"Uh huh," Georgie, not his little brother, says.

"Under the pavilion," Roberta says.

Bill stares at her curiously. She gives him a grin.

"Having lunch," they say together. "With Beverly Marsh."

"Well," Georgie says, lowering her eyes, " _they_ had lunch."

"He misses you," Roberta says.

"Didn't get on the space ship, actually," Georgie adds.

"So Beverly didn't either," Roberta adds as well.

"Oh..." Bill says, his insides squirming with guilt.

He _knows_ how much Georgie has been looking forward to the circus. He knows it all too well. He's the one who's been listening to Georgie ramble on and on, like Eddie in an annoyed rant about health risks and violations, about Pennywise the Dancing Clown for _months_. He's the one that listened to Georgie recite, by heart, where everybody had found their dolls and how they had found them. He's the one that was continuously asked, more than the rest of their friends, where he thought his doll would be until Georgie ended up finding it himself instead of Bill and... and then...

Bill managed to ruin that moment for him, too.

He hadn't meant to get hurt, and he certainly wouldn't have if given any other options, but he still felt like it was his fault that Georgie had gotten scared in the store. He knew it wasn't his fault that his dad acted like a dick later, twice, but he couldn't help how he felt.

The worst part was he could imagine how excited Georgie had been when he had come back from the bathroom only to see Bill's doll sitting in the front of the cart, and then how confused he must have been to see Bill was gone... and then terrified to see him lying on the dirty floor with blood all over him.

"You look sad," Georgie, not his little brother, says.

"Circuses are supposed to be happy places," Roberta says.

She pokes the side of his mouth with her tiny little index finger and pushes it upwards so that his mouth is a lopsided half-smile.

"Only Sad Clowns get to be sad," Georgie adds, copying Roberta and pushing the other side of his mouth up so that it resembles a less lopsided but still awkward smile.

"We don't have Sad Clowns here," Roberta says.

"So no sad, you," Georgie says.

Bill smiles for real once more, though he still feels guilty about dragging Georgie down and probably Beverly, too. The feeling is like little needles (a feeling he has become painfully familiar with) poking and prodding at his insides. He also feels like a dick for being relieved, his guilt worsening, at the fact that he was happy to hear Georgie didn't get on the spaceship with Stan.

He isn't very impressed that Stan went ahead on one of the rides if Georgie was clearly upset, but at the same time he knows he can't blame him either. He's just happy that Beverly, at the very least, is with him. Though, he supposes he's mostly unhappy with Stan because there's more safety in numbers, especially if Richie and Eddie ran off together and assuming Ben and Mike hadn't stuck with Beverly and Georgie either, whether or not they were with Stan on the ship he didn't know and didn't care. He just wanted to find his little brother.

"Wh-Which p-p-puh-puh-puh --" Bill starts to ask before his stutter gets worse, his throat feeling stuck in place as his tongue gets heavy in his mouth.

His cheeks turn red with embarrassment and frustration as he grits his teeth, still trying to force the word out. The embarrassment comes from the fact that both stare up at him, clearly confused. The frustration is from the fact that he hates his stutter.

"Are you cold?" Georgie asks, touching one of her small hands to his face. "You feel warm."

"It's summer anyhow, how can you be cold?" Roberta asks.

"I'm n-n-nuh-nuh-not," Bill says, smiling quite patiently. "It's c-called a s-s-stutter."

They look even more confused, staring up at him as though they can't understand why he would have a stutter. Bill just shrugs, still smiling down at them.

"Wh-Which one is he a-a-at?" he asks.

"That one," both girl say together, in perfect sync, but there's only one small problem;

They're both pointing in different directions.

One girl is pointing left, the other is pointing right.

Bill continues to stare down at them as they stare right back up at him. There is just something about their grins, childish and endearing, that remind him of something -- or maybe some _one_ \-- else, but he still can't quite place his finger on it. Their resemblance to Georgie is uncanny, but not unpleasant, since Georgie is one of the biggest sweethearts he knows. It's just weird because they're both reminding him of Pennywise right now.

Not the Other one, either. The one who's teasing personality Eddie had described, and the nice one Georgie had described.

"The show is going to start soon," Georgie says, still smiling up at him.

"You shouldn't miss it," Roberta says, also still smiling up at him.

"He'd be very sad if you did," Georgie adds.

"You already left your doll and present behind," Roberta supplies.

Bill wonders how the hell these two could have known that, unless they were in the house when the Other Pennywise had said that... and then he wonders if there's more to their little grins than what meets the eye... somehow, their little grins stretch even further. As though they could understand what he was thinking. They stretch ear to ear, reminding him almost painfully, dare say creepily, of the clown in the kitchen, but not at the same time.

The clown in the kitchen was the creepy one, not these two.

But he stares more intently at Georgie, who gives him a grin that is anything but innocent.

"Th-That w-w-was y-you w-w-wasn't it?"

Her grin widens as she sticks her little tongue out at him, pink popping out from between red lips.

Bill actually laughs at that, contemplating sticking his own tongue out at her. He understands that they're the ones that dove under the couch right after Cujo, though he wonders how they can move that quickly and quietly to have gotten past his legs without him noticing. But he pushes those thoughts aside.

"W-W-Will G-G-Guh-Georgie b-be there?" he asks.

"Everyone will be," Roberta says.

"Just follow the red balloons," Georgie says.

"They show you the way," they say together, both pointing to one of the red balloons, the one tied to one of the popcorn makers. The white arrow on it is pointing to another red balloon, which is pointing to another... and then another... and another...

Bill's smile stretches out even further at their behavior. He wants to go and find Georgie, but where will these two go? He still doesn't like the idea of letting them wander about by themselves... especially when he knows Georgie has Beverly with him...

And maybe he just likes their company.

"W-W-Why d-d-don't y-you c-come w-with m-m-muh-me?"

They both beam up at him, their smiles equally radiant like the shining sun, as though they were waiting for him to ask that very question, or simply hoping he would, and both simultaneously lift up their little arms, making grabbing motions with their little hands, both of them clearly wanting to be picked up and held like actual babies. Bill knew he was going to end up carrying them and his smile grows even more.

He can't help it, something warm is fluttering inside of his heart, like the soft feathers of a bird's wings brushing and tickling his skin, as he carefully bends his upper body farther down and wraps his each arm around each girl, carefully picking them up, one in each arm. He holds the backs of their legs with his hands, making it look as though they were sitting on his hands.

They even cling to his shirt as he starts to stand, though he can't help but notice that Roberta, the one in his right arm, is mindful not to touch his bicep, while Georgie wraps her arms around his left one, and the frown Roberta gives his arm makes him think that she knows it's injured... he shakes his head as they start to point in the directions of the balloons.

"I s-still s-say y-you sh-should b-b-be w-with your p-p-p-p-puh --"

Bill sighs again, his frustration rising again, though he does refrain from swearing. They just smile at him again.

"He knows you," Georgie says. "Knows that Georgie."

"Uh huh. If this was a normal circus, this --" Roberta pats him on the hand, which is carefully holding up her legs, just like a baby, "-- would be very much frowned upon."

"But you're cool," Georgie says. "Because he knows you and Georgie."

"If you weren't cool, and he didn't know you, then you'd be six feet under," Roberta says, smiling pleasantly.

"Or there wouldn't be enough of you left for them to find," Georgie adds, also smiling quite pleasantly.

Bill's lips twitch again as he stares at the two of them. They're both quite weird, but in a good kind of way. He just wishes his dad was like theirs... if he really was as protective as they were suggesting... or maybe he wishes his mom would be, probably like their mom, too.

His dad had a moment, in the store, one little moment of concern but Bill wasn't stupid. He knew it wasn't out of an actually fatherly thing, a protectiveness of his kid. He figured his dad just didn't want to lose his housekeeper. His maid now that his mom was gone, he thought bitterly.

"Turn that frown upside down," Georgie says in a singsong voice, pushing the left side of his mouth up.

"Then it's a smile," Roberta says, also in a singsong voice, pushing the right side of his mouth up.

Bill smiles again, for real, even as he gets weird stares from the other kids as he passes by them, the boy too busy looking between the pavilions and over the sea of heads for Georgie or even one of his friends too actually care. Blonde, black, a couple of ginger heads that weren't Beverly's, brown... kids of all shapes and sizes... younger and older... tall and small... no Georgie... not even Beverly or Stan, though the latter might be because he was still on one of the ships... he doesn't see Eddie or Richie, though that might be because they were still on the bus that the ticket seller mentioned... he doesn't see Ben or even Mike...

"Richie peed himself," Georgie says pleasantly.

Bill stares at her, one conclusion coming to mind.

"The bus," he guesses.

Correctly.

"Uh huh," Roberta says, just as pleasantly.

"Uncle Freddy enjoyed himself," Georgie says. "Can't say the same for Richie."

"Or Eddie," Roberta says.

"Or Esther," Georgie adds.

"Or Dorsey," Roberta throws in.

"Or Gretta."

"Or Belch."

"Or Vic."

"Or Henry."

"Don't think Uncle Freddy likes that Connor very much," Georgie says.

"Well, when you go to great lengths to scare someone and it doesn't work, you'd get mad and start contemplating, too," Roberta says, shrugging.

"Uncle Freddy?" Bill asks curiously, wondering if that was the ticket seller.

The ticket seller's cackling laugh was almost identical to the actual Freddy Krueger's, but Bill couldn't help but wonder what the chances were that Freddy was his actual name. Not only that, but Bill wasn't sure which _Nightmare on Elm Street_ movie he was supposed to be referencing, if any at all, because he hadn't seen any with a ticket seller. Not yet anyway. _A Nightmare on Elm Street 5_ was supposed to be coming out soon, so maybe that was the case.

Then he can't help but wonder how the girls knew such big words, so many names of the kids in Derry, and he definitely couldn't help but wonder what exactly "Uncle Freddy" was contemplating about. He had an idea it had to do with the glove... maybe another mean to scare the kids...

"He's visiting," Roberta says.

"Mama doesn't want him around for very long, but daddy says he's cool on occasion," Georgie says.

"That's n-n-uh-nice," Bill says, still smiling.

"Daddy'd win anyway," Roberta adds.

"That's iffy," Georgie says.

Roberta gives her a look. Georgie shrugs.

"Win what?" Bill asks.

It's as though the two of them are having a conversation without him. As though they can tell what the other one is thinking without actually having to communicate in words... though they knew such big ones.

They just smile at him and don't answer his question.

"Heard Cujo jumped Richie," Georgie says, grinning at him now.

"Y-Yeah," Bill says, "w-w-what is that, anyway?"

"That's a Cujo," Roberta says. "Like a shark, not daddy. He wanted a St. Bernard, a puppy, but with less bats. Mama wouldn't let him. Didn't want it to get eaten. So he leaves Cujo here sometimes."

"Oh."

He still finds it very hard to believe that, even for a second, "Cujo" wasn't just a well constructed animatronic. He also can't help but wonder if Pennywise is a fan of Stephen King. Richie had mentioned him, and the ticket seller had said he and King went way back...

Maybe it was just some inside joke that even the girls didn't understand, so they couldn't explain it properly to him or they were just like Pennywise (he was guessing the clown was their father) and enjoyed teasing people with knowing more than they did, or in Eddie's case, with Unicorns.

Bill quickly remembers Eddie's comment and realizing that there really was no way the clown should know about the Unicorn comment, since he wasn't present for that conversation and the teasing had come before any of them, most likely Georgie, had the chance to tell him about it...

Unless it was just Pennywise's way of telling Richie that he was going to get a _D &D_ board game as a carnival prize. Bill could see that, since he knew _D &D_ was one of Richie's favorite games, nothing compared to _Street Fighter_ , of course. Bill did see multiple games for prizes, including miniature arcade games as well as _D &D_ and even _Clue_.

"W-W-Wh-What's y-your d-d-dad l-l-luh-like?" he asks curiously. "Is h-he l-luh-like the O-Other P-P-P-P-Puh-Puh --" he sighs, his frustration threatening to bubble over again. "R-R-Rob-bert?"

The girls share a look, even though Roberta now has her gloved thumb in her mouth, sucking on it, uncannily resembling Georgie again. He would say their expression was that of... concern?

 _Fear_?

"No," Georgie says, now frowning. "She's not even supposed to be here, is she?"

"Well, she is but she isn't," Roberta says, her thumb still in her mouth.

Just like Georgie when he was trying to cheer Bill up last night.

"How can she be here if she isn't supposed to be?" Georgie asks.

"People always go where they're not supposed to be," Roberta says, quite intelligently. "Just ask Uncle Freddy or any other of Daddy's friends. Daddy too."

"Oh, yeah," Georgie says, still frowning.

Bill looks between them, now confuse.d

"I m-m-m-muh-muh-mean the c-c-clown," he says.

"So do we," both girls say together, still frowning.

"Though you should be specific," Georgie says.

"Lots of clowns in a circus," Roberta adds.

"Not this one. Just him," Georgie adds before laying her head down on Bill's chest, like a little baby, and Roberta copies her, their ears and temples pressed against each of his shoulders.

The sight warms his heart, though isn't quite sure as to why. He thinks that it might be because they remind of him of his Georgie back when he was a baby, too. Bill remembers how tiny Georgie had been back then, too, even smaller than these two. He himself had been much smaller, only six when Georgie was born... Georgie so tiny in his mom's arms...

He misses those times. He even misses his mom, misses how much she had cared back then... his dad, too... but that was gone now.

Though, for some reason, Georgie keeps lifting her head up and down, as though Bill's chest is a pillow she can't get quite comfortable on, a look of confusion on her little face and maybe even a little pout, and she even swats his chest multiple times with her little hand before laying back down.

"She's still not supposed to be here," Georgie says.

"Well, she is but she isn't," Roberta says. "She's got the upstairs and the basement."

"The other one, yeah," Georgie says.

"I s-saw a m-m-man," Bill says, "in the k-ki-kitchen."

He isn't so sure they're talking about the same clown, but Georgie said there's only "him" in this circus.

"Definitely not where she's supposed to be," Georgie says.

"Well, she is but she isn't," Roberta says.

"I d-d-don't th-think we're t-talking about the s-same c-clown," Bill says.

"White painted face," Georgie says.

"Red clown smile," Roberta says.

" _Button_ eyes?" they say together.

Bill frowns slightly.

"Y-Yeah."

"Same clown," they say together.

"B-But y-you keep s-saying 'sh-sh-she'," Bill says, "I s-saw a m-man."

"Well, people can look like whoever they want to, can't they?" Georgie asks.

"What you look like on the outside doesn't define who you are on the inside," Roberta adds.

"People can be whoever they want to be."

"I... I guess," Bill says, still slightly confused.

Though, he is quite certain that such intelligent and coherent words have never been spoken before. At least not to him in particular, or even in Derry, at the very least. Certainly not around Bowers and his goons. Certainly not _by_ Bowers and his goons.

But why would the clown, the Other Pennywise, be in the kitchen if he, or even she, wasn't supposed to be? But was supposed to be at the same time? Maybe it was supposed to be with supervision?

 _That_ thought didn't settle Bill's nerves.

"W-W-Well, wh-why sh-shouldn't h-he --" he quickly corrects himself, "-- _she_ be in the k-kitchen?"

"Lots of reasons," Georgie says.

"She ruined the pizza moment," Roberta says.

"He made that just for you," Georgie says.

"Had to have her scene, I guess," Roberta says.

"Oh," Bill says, staring between them again.

It sounded like a nice thing, to have someone make a meal for him instead of the other way around. Certainly a lot nicer than having it be insulted for no earthy reason other than to be an asshole... if not still a little weird.

"If making somebody a pizza, then having somebody else ruin the moment, was the weirdest thing about this whole thing, that'd be just swell," Georgie says, smiling at the look on his face.

"Right..." Bill says, smiling awkwardly. "W-W-Well, w-what's y-your m-mom like?"

He's mostly just curious, if not a little upset, because he still doesn't think the girls should have been on their own, even if they had each other. Maybe he's just bigoted after October, because he knows he could have very well lost Georgie that day... and because he misses his own mom.

Both girls smile again, radiantly as the glowing sun. It warms his own heart again.

"A mama," Georgie says. "Tells the best stories."

"I like one where the dragons get beaten with the magic stones," Roberta says.

"Everyone likes that story," Georgie says.

"Etty especially," Roberta says.

"Who?" Bill asks.

"My younger sister," Roberta says, beaming.

Smugly.

"We have lots of younger sisters," Georgie says.

"H-How m-muh-muh-many s-sisters do y-you have?"

"A lot," Georgie says simply.

"Lots and lots," Roberta says cheerfully.

"Oh."

"And brothers, too," Georgie adds.

"Not the namesake he was thinking," Roberta adds, smiling.

Knowingly.

"None of us were," Georgie says.

Roberta laughs, childlike and nothing short of adorable. She looks up at Bill, beaming.

"We --"

She starts to talk again, smiling at him rather weirdly (but sweetly), but she stills suddenly, actually stiffening in his arm, her smile disappearing and turning into a frown. She suddenly hits her forehead against Bill's shoulder, hiding her face into his neck. Georgie quickly copies her, the look on both girls' faces that of genuine fear as their tiny little hands grab onto his shirt, holding it for dear life.

And yet Roberta is still mindful of his injured arm.

Bill fails to realize they aren't trying to hide to protect themselves, as though their childlike minds think that hiding in Bill's neck will make the scariness go away, or Bill can protect them no matter what. That is not the case, though they have full faith in him. Not that he knows that. Bill at first doesn't understand why they would even hide their faces, until he hears the jeering voice practically _floating_ towards him.

Bill stiffens too, but rather than out of fear, it's a protective sort of feeling he gets. And he isn't scared for himself, only them.

"Nice accessories, Denbrough."

Bill can't stop himself from scowling when he spots Vic, Belch, Connor, and Henry all staring at him from their seats under the closest pavilion, which, judging by the fact that there was a small boy holding the side of his face, tears in his eyes, from where he's laying on the ground, his friend glaring at Connor viciously as she helps him up, the side of the boy's face already swelling and starting to bruise, Bill can safely assume they just stole the spot from them.

The dolls, Belch, Vic, Henry, and Connor's, are all frowning becaus eof what just happened to the little boy and his friends. The keenest eye would spot the button eyes expanding for a fraction of a second, quite like human eyes widening in shock, and then the facial expressions contort into something fierce --

\-- angry --

\-- livid --

\-- furious --

\-- _protective_ \--

"S-Sh-Shut up, B-B-Bowers."

He isn't talking to Henry, however. He's taking to Connor, who he knows is the one that spoke because he didn't recognize the voice, but the kid obviously knew his name. Henry is staring intently at him, too, but there's a weirdness to his eyes that Bill has never seen before, not even in all of the years he's known the older boy.

Empathetic, not that Henry understands the feeling. Bill doesn't even realize that Henry is staring, not at his eyes, or even the little girls he's holding, but at the bruises on Bill's jaw in the shapes of small, thin crescent moons and fingerprints. Henry is unfamiliar with such specifically shaped marks, but he knows how it feels to be bruised... more than once... his own face is evidence of that, the same as Bill's.

"Playing babysitter for your clown buddy?" Vic asks, sneering.

Georgie shifts in Bill's arm, pressing her nose even more deeply into his neck. The dolls on the table, and even in the hands of every single kid at the circus, start to fidget and twitch.

The dolls are _moving_ \--

\-- they're _alive_.

"Where the hell have you been, anyway?" Henry asks him, his blue eyes wide with an unreadable expression, or perhaps he doesn't have a specific expression at all, as he quickly looks at his hands and away from Bill. They're impossibly wide, almost as wide as saucers, his pupils blown to the point where his irises are almost completely covered, nothing more than thin blue rings around the circles of black. He's shaking as well, looking like a confused and almost scared boy lost in a big, scary world, though this goes unnoticed by his cousin as well as Belch and Vic, all of whom are too busy sneering at Bill. "Your brother's been looking for you for two hours now."

Bill frowns as his guilt intensifies, the sharpness of the metaphorical blade seemingly increasing, piercing and slicing through him, though he doesn't understand why Henry Bowers of all people would care about his whereabouts. Especially since Henry doesn't seem to be in the mood for some bullying.

For two hours, no less.

"N-N-N-None of y-your b-b-business," Bill says quietly, lowering his eyes as he holds Georgie and Roberta even closer to himself, the girls snuggling into him as well.

Some of the fierceness on the dolls' face lessens...

Bill isn't going to rise to their taunts, though he didn't think Henry is actually taunting him now, considering the fact that the older boy looks completely confused, like a boy lost in his own thoughts, as though he doesn't even know where the hell he's at right now or even what he's doing with his life, and the fact is pretty shocking to Bill considering their less than friendly past. Considering the constant mockery of Bill's stutter and the rude commentary about Bill's mom on the last day of school... and then the rock fight... the latter, which, he sees has left a faint scar just below Bowers' hairline, right on his forehead.

Bill guesses the reason it's already scarred over, and became a scar at all, is because he got hit in the head three times instead of only two. In the exact same spot, no less.

Connor chews obnoxiously at his gum, teeth and all, even worse than Gretta. She always smacks her lips, he's chewing with an open mouth. A dirty idea flits through his thoughts as he grins nastily, seemingly baring his teeth. Georgie and Roberta both shift again, still hiding their little faces in Bill's neck, cold noses touching his skin. The protective fierceness on the dolls' faces worsens again, purely raw anger --

\-- _rage_ \--

\-- on them.

It's the protectiveness that is most defining. Quite like the protectiveness of a mother, but not. More of a papa than a mama.

Connor himself knows the rumors about Bill Denbrough, otherwise known as Stuttering Bill or the Denbrough _Slut_. He knose these rumors because of his cousin and his cousin's friends, Belch, Vic, and even Patrick before he went missing. Patrick, Connor knows, most explicitly, had his eye on Denbrough for a while, too.

He knows, from Patrick's commentary that he doesn't plan on repeating, at the moment at least, at least not to his cousin and his cousin's friends and certainly not his uncle, that Patrick _really_ had his eye on on Denbrough. He remembers what Patrick had told him about Denbrough's mom, what she did all the way back in October, months before Connor even came to Derry, and he knows the rumors about Bill, too. Especially the redhead comment Patrick had made to Denbrough on that very last day of school.

Of course, that was a conversation that both Patrick Hockstetter and Connor Bowers were going to take to the grave, the latter having planned it from the beginning.

One of them having already done so.

 _Well_ , someone things furiously, _two can keep a secret if **both** of them are **dead**_.

If Connor was honest (with himself, nobody else) then if Denbrough was a girl, like that Beverly Marsh, though from what he's heard about her, had heard about her from his cousin before he stopped talking about it all together (after some rock fight Vic said they had), the stories about her aren't too great either, but if Denbrough was a girl, then maybe he could see the appeal Patrick had.

Or maybe he's trying to convince himself.

Disgust.

Anger.

These are the strongest emotions on the faces of all of the dolls in the circus, though only Georgie Denbrough notices.

Connor can't stop his already nastily grin from widening as his mind formulates the next words that come out of his mouth, Bill already not liking the grin before the kid even speaks.

"Two hours?" he asks Bill, grinning all the more nastily. "Kind of a long time, isn't it? You and the clown, you two get up to a lot of fun together?"

Silence quickly follows. The kids under the pavilion, and those at the carnival games closest, who had heard him speak, start to stare at Bill and the scene as Belch and Vic groan with disgust, though both boys are smiling just as nastily. Henry, on the other hand, quite shockingly, looks immensely uncomfortable. As though he wants to disappear on the spot. Bill personally thinks that's not exactly fair, since he's the one getting embarrassed. Not Henry. Unless Henry is uncomfortable with the topic of discussion, or maybe he just doesn't want to get into it right now (another shocking thing, Bill thinks) he isn't sure.

Then again, after what Richie and Eddie had told him about the incident at the arcade, Bowers didn't seem to have any problems asking Richie such a dirty and ridiculous question like that in front of all of those kids. However, Bill knew that Bowers' own favored method of bullying included hurtful insults at the moment, rather than spreading nasty rumors, unless you counted Beverly, and even more hurtful punches. Sometimes kicks if it was a really bad day.

Or, in Mike's case, getting a rock smashed into his head... or run down in an alley...

Either way, Henry did that to Beverly, but he was never the one to cause such a scene like this. Connor was clearly much more like Gretta, of course.

Bill glares at the blonde boy.

Not even at Henry. Not even at Belch or VIc.

However, now his face and even his ears are red, burning with anger and humiliation at Connor's words. He understands now more than ever why Richie and Eddie dislike him so much. Even after years of enduring Henry's bullying, hurtful insults, mocking of his stutter, and physical pain, he's never hated Henry or Belch or even Vic. He's pretty sure he's close to feeling that emotion now, however.

Not only that, but the _implication_.

Connor didn't know what the fuck he was talking about. Nobody except Georgie and Eddie had actually met the clown. Well, Bill had met the Other Pennywise, but still... he misses the expansion of the button eyes again, shock and even fear mixing with the anger... He didn't exactly plan on sharing that information now, of course. The fact remained, what Connor was suggesting wasn't at all true.

That didn't matter now, however. No matter what Bill said or did now, he was screwed. People were going to think that now. Once that first bit of idle gossip had spread, it was a wildfire that couldn't be put out no matter what happened next. Bill didn't care, he knew better and that was all that mattered in his opinion, but he knew this was going to end up affecting Georgie somehow. He had a feeling that if Connor didn't get the rise out of him that he wanted, he was going to go after Georgie next.

He was quite certain that Connor would get along real swell with Gretta, considering they both liked to spread rumors and put other people down in the dirt to make themselves feel better about their own miserable lives.

"Sh-Shut up," Bill says quietly, not wanting to rise.

It isn't just because his friends aren't with him, and he wouldn't fair well if things got ugly. It's mostly because he's not going to be the one to make a scene at the circus and he's not going to be the one to piss of Bowers and his goons. But mostly, he's not going to endanger two small children like that and even if they took off (though judging by their iron clad grips he kind of doubted it) he still wasn't going to do or say something that stupid in front of them.

Connor still chews at his gum, his blue eyes falling on Georgie, who tries to burrow even deeper into Bill's neck as though she's a mouse and he's home.

"Hey, hey, kid!" Connor calls, staring at her now. Her grip tightens even further. "Yeah, you, Gingy!" he says, grinning.

Teeth, sharp as razors, claws, sharper than, are extending out of the mouths and hands of the dolls now. They are very much real, not at all fabric or plastic.

"Is Mr. Gray your daddy?" he asks, fully aware of all eyes on them now. "What's he like?"

No response.

"Tell me, is Bill the _real_ reason Georgie got his doll before everyone else?"

More people are starting to stare now, Bill feeling sick and angry as his face burns with humiliation and embarrassment. He knew the nasty rumors that the divorce and his mom leaving Derry had started, including the new nickname (having gone from Stuttering Bill, though he knew people still called him that behind his back, sometimes still to his face, to the Denbrough _Slut_ ), but this was a low point.

It was the implication of Connor's words that was the nastiest of them all. Beverly had been taunted by Gretta back on that last day of school in the school's bathroom, the mean girl having asked if she had done something like that to get entry, and Bill knew that was the rumor that had spread about her now, as she was the one kid, out of all of the kids in Derry, to get the key that was for something special. Bill knew this, and he had never felt more empathy in his life.

He promises himself that once this is over, he was going to find Beverly and tell her the truth.

He himself never believed any of the rumors about her.

And she was one of the best friends he ever had.

Henry puts his face into his hands. One would think he's hiding his face and laughing into them, but that isn't so. Bill saw the evident discomfort on his face. It's incredibly shocking, because Bill would have thought Henry would have started a fight since Bill was vastly outnumbered... then again... Henry's preferred method of bullying was still physical when it came to bullying another boy.

Now, it is true that Georgie Denbrough was the first kid in all of Derry to get his doll, but that was because he had met the clown first. Back in October. Before everyone else. Before even Dorsey Corcoran and Eddie Kaspbrak. Georgie meeting Pennywise had happened long before Richard Macklin had tried to attack Dorsey with his favorite hammer and before Ed Corocran and Betty Ripsom and even Veronica Grogan and Patrick Hockstetter had all gone missing... that was the real reason why Georgie had gotten his doll first, not the reason Connor was implying.

Bill figured that Connor knew it was a load of shit that he was spewing, just to start trouble, and he knew the boy didn't care. It wouldn't hurt him in the long run, so why would it? Bill knew about the dirty whispers and the nasty rumors that came from things like this, knowing that Beverly had experienced it longer than anyone else. It wasn't a competition, but Bill knew a beating was inevitable. Just as he knew that if Richie and Eddie hadn't run like hell out of the arcade that day, they would have been beaten into a pulp. And not just because Eddie had kicked Connor.

He guesses that's why Connor is starting shit now. He just wants a little payback because of what happened with Richie and Eddie, even though he was the one who had started it, according to Richie, and since those two aren't here, and Bill is all alone, no less, because Bill sincerely doubts any of these kids would jump to his defense if it gets serious, physical no less, he's taking advantage of the moment.

Especially since he must be under Bowers' protection and therefore can hide behind Belch and Vic and use them like his own goons. Or _thinks_ he is and can.

It wasn't true, what he was implying. Bill honestly just hadn't felt good because of the nightmares, the incident at the store, the bruising of his face from his dad after coming home from the hospital, and the incident when he went to go get the peaches (that last one making him tremble all over again), but Bill isn't going to explain himself. He doesn't owe some snot-nosed homophobic douchebag anything.

He also guesses Connor is trying to ruin the circus for him, but he won't let him. He just thinks that it sucks that the truth clearly doesn't matter. Not in Derry. Not at all.

There is more murmuring in the crowd and Bill can feel hot tears wetting his shirt on both sides.

He isn't going to rise, however. He is better than Connor Bowers and the only thing that matters to Bill is finding his friends and keeping the little girls as far away from Connor's taunts as humanly possible.

Watery laughter vibrates in his shoulders, Bill not understanding what was so funny.

"Stop it," he says simply and, with an air of finality, he turns to walk away, turning his back on Connor Bowers.

"It's an honest question, Denbrough!" Connor calls. "What with what Patrick said --"

Bill stops in his tracks, every inch of him turning colder than ice. His stomach drops as his limbs feel like mechanisms that have just locked up, every part of his body feeling as though it had just turned to led and then jelly, his knees especially. The grin Connor gives him is all the more wide and nasty, dirty, and stating very clearly, "Checkmate."

Bill can't help but wonder what the hell Patrick might have said... though it might just be Connor blowing smoke out of his ass in another pitiful attempt to get a rise out of him... especially since Bill hasn't even seen Patrick since the last day of school (he refuses to count the nightmare) and yet every inch of him is trembling... there's more murmuring...

Curious and confused, mostly... but he can hear the dirty whispers... feel the judgmental stares...

He doesn't know that Connor is really talking about the dirty things Patrick had suggested about Bill long before the incident at the corner of Jackson and Witcham. How could he? Just the same, Connor doesn't realize just how deeply his words are affecting Bill.

The people who say such cruel words tend not to realize these things, or maybe they just don't care. Either way, Connor doesn't realize something very important. Other than the fact that he knows his words aren't true at all. He'll realize it, soone nough.

"Lying," Georgie murmurs in his ear.

"Patrick said nothing," Roberta adds quietly in his other ear.

"Only nasty comments," Georgie says, just as softly.

"He went bye-bye a while ago," Roberta says.

"For good."

 _Before or after?_ Bill can't help but wonder. _Smoke_. _It's just smoke_.

He isn't sure who he's trying to convince, however.

Yet the coil in his chest does lessen its painful grip, air returning to his lungs, though it hurts to breathe. But he still can't help but feel as though he's under a spotlight, countless eyes staring intently at him.

Meaningless in the long run, but judgmental nonetheless.

It is both a relief and it isn't to know that Connor is just blowing smoke out of his ass to provoke Bill, because Bill knows that Patrick is one of the missing kids.

He's gone.

Simply and utterly gone... but that's not what's bothering him now...

The fact that Georgie and Roberta know about Patrick and the nasty comments, probably about his mom and the other thing...

That stings.

"I hear redheads are good fucks --" Connor says, the words making Bill feel fury and disgust pooling in his gut. Bubbling over like a pain of boiling water and steaming just the same. "-- is that true?"

Bill doesn't answer the dirty question. Instead, he settles for glaring.

"T-T-T-Talking l-l-l-luh-like th-that around l-l-little girls," he says, still glaring.

His pale eyes are like two chips of ice. Arctic in their fury, blazing like a hellfire.

"R-R-Real m-m-mature," he spits.

Some of the kids are glaring at Connor, while others are still murmuring among themselves.

"Not my fault the slut genes run through this backwater town," Connor retorts.

Henry's fists are clenched in front of his face, the boy rocking back and forth. He's unsure of who's side he's supposed to take. He doesn't care much about Denbrough, but some part of him feels empathy (not that he realizes it) after what Georgie told him. Behind his fists, his entire face is scrunched up in pain. He wants to tell his cousin to stop, because he's starting shit for no reason, and Henry wants to start throwing punches.

Only, it's not Denbrough he wants to pummel and pound in a fit of rage, the one thing his dad taught him to do. And not just because he's got two kids in his hands...

"They're not true," Georgie says quietly.

"Nope, nope. Patrick just made dumb comments," Roberta says, just as quietly.

"Not a good mama," Georgie says.

"Nope."

Bill sighs, relief and upset one in the same. Relief in knowing some extent of Patrick's commentary (he might be sick if he knew the full of them) and upset because the people at the circus still know... little kids especially.

"You still didn't answer my question, Denbrough," Connor says, still chewing his gum. "Two hours is a pretty long time."

More murmuring. The foul, dirty whispers. The judgmental stares.

Just like Beverly... just like Mike... just like Richie and Eddie...

"Uncle Freddy?" Georgie asks.

"Uncle Freddy," Roberta says with a tone of clarity.

"C'mon, _Slut_! We'd all like to know! Is that why you and your brother got them? Beaver-ly too? Everyone knows she's the only one with the key!"

Bill lowers his eyes as Georgie and Roberta hold him close, as the claws on the dolls, black as the night, lengthen and prepare to slash at the blonde boy. Bill feels like he's trapped under a microscope. He still doesn't answer.

He's starting to grow weary and wonder how many more days are going to start out decent, only to get ruined. Whether it was by a talking shadow with buttons for eyes... or a bully.

"Stop."

Bill blinks. Once. Twice. Thrice. His brain unable to comprehend what he just heard as he looks back up. Connor is blinking two, one and twice and even thrice, looking confused. Belch and Vic have the same look of confusion, both boys blinking almost stupidly with incomprehension.

Henry is sitting there, his hands still clenched tightly into fists to the point that his knuckles have gone white, on the table next to each other. He looks to be moments away from putting his head against the table and beating it with his fist. Yet the side of his face is still bruised, blue and purple, in the shape of an even larger fist, but the rest is a milky, almost sickly white, his blue eyes wide with disbelief as his nostrils flare, his mouth pressed into a thin line as though he can't believe what he just said either.

Not only that, but the expression on Henry's face is that of a wounded animal. Disoriented from pain and confused beyond measure. His own brain cannot comprehend what has just happened, and every instinct is defensive now.

Connor, however, isn't silenced by the fact that his own cousin told him to stop.

"Seriously, Henry?" he asks, disbelief written all over his face. Disgust quickly follows, as he stares judgmentally at his own cousin. "You too? I mean, I know Patrick liked the freak, should've heard him talking about it, but you too?"

The wounded look disappears, replaced with the steeliness Bill has become familiar with. Henry's eyes were already clouded over, misty with confusion, but now they're two storms brewing on the horizon, readying themselves to break through. A fist is slammed into the table, startling multiple people, including his cousin, and it rattles the wood. Connor has a frightened look on his face.

"JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Bowers screams at him, startling him. Frightening him. "AND YOU GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!" he bellows at Bill, pointing an accusing finger at him as though it's somehow Bill's fault this happened.

Bill doesn't listen. Instead he stares at Henry with confusion on his own face.

Was it at all true... had that _really_ just happened... that _Henry Bowers_ of all people... _defended_ **_him_**?

"He's learning," Georgie murmurs.

"Didn't even say the You-Know-What word," Roberta adds.

Bill quickly realizes that's actually true. He --

\-- jumps.

"THE FUCK ARE YOU ALL LOOKING AT!?" Bowers starts screaming at the rest of the kids sitting under the pavilion as well as the ones staring from their spots at the games. All of them quickly look away, either at their food or at their feet or their hands or nothing in particular. They simply look away from Bowers as quickly as possible. "GET THE FUCK LOST!" he practically roars at Bill before storming off.

Kids part and quickly scramble away as Henry storms back to the gaming area, disappearing in the crowd.

It's silent for a moment, everyone staring with shock, except for Georgie and Roberta, and even the dolls, at where Henry has gotten. Yet --

"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME, YOU FUCKING SKANK!"

Bill runs in that direction, mindful of Georgie and Roberta yet fully aware of the glares he was receiving from Connor, Belch, and Vic. As though it was his fault. He chases after Bowers, only to see the blonde boy's retreating back as he shoulders past kids, shoving down one of the little men as he does, as well as a hurt looking Beverly standing next to Richie and Eddie, Ben and Mike, Stan and Georgie.

 _His_ Georgie.

The way Georgie's eyes light up when he sees Bill remind him of fireworks on the Fourth of July, and Georgie is about to start running towards him, he can see that, but then a weird look crosses over his face. Bill can't help but laugh as Georgie and Roberta do, especially as the same exact thing happens to the rest of his friends, all of them looking happy and then relieved, and then confused.

"Fucking finally," Richie says as they approach him, Georgie looking as though he would start running and possibly even body slam Bill if he wasn't holding two little babies. "Where the fuck have you been? We've been looking for you for three hours now."

" _We_ have," Beverly says, gesturing to herself, Mike, Ben, and Georgie. "You got on the bus."

"You okay?" Mike asks Bill, looking concerned as he approaches but he quickly backs away when Roberta tries to swat at him and Georgie lunges her little head, her entire body and Bill nearly drops her, as though attempting to bite at him. "Okay..." he says awkwardly, backing away.

He blinks when he realizes these are the two little girls that he had thought were glaring at him on the TV... he knows it's still silly thinking, since there's no way they could have seen him (right?), but it is very obvious they do not like him. He just doesn't understand why.

"Um, hi?" Ben says, staring at the kids with an equally bemused expression on his face.

Mostly because both of them have narrowed their eyes at him, gazing at him suspiciously. Roberta punches her little fist into her other hand as Georgie does the "I'm watching you" gesture with her two little fingers. Ben swallows, actually frightened.

"L-L-L-Long s-story," Bill says, smiling awkwardly. He doesn't think Ben would appreciate him laughing. "Um... d-di-did B-B-Bow-Bowers --?"

"Yes," Beverly says, frowning. "Stormed past us, looking mad... what happened?"

Bill is about to answer, but somebody does it for him.

"Hey, hey, asshole!"

It would appear that Connor took Henry's place in standing before Belch and Vic, now flanked by them. Of course, seeing that the Losers and Georgie were together again, Bill no longer alone, they were the ones that were outnumbered.

"The fuck did you do to my cousin, huh?" Connor spits at him, looking ready to shove him but clearly thinking better of it.

Not because of Georgie and Roberta, however. But because the little men were watching intently. Bill wasn't stupid though, and he could see Connor wasn't going to get physical while people were watching. Especially if they went to get the ticket seller.

Or Mr. Gray.

"First Patrick and now Henry?" Connor snaps at him, disgust in his blue eyes. "The people in this town have no fucking shame, do they?"

"Back off," Beverly says, stepping forward to stand next to Bill, Ben standing beside her, almost in front of her, as though ready to take a hit for her if any one of them dared to hit her.

And he _would_.

"Shut up," Bill says, clutching the little girls closely as he stands in front of his little brother, his arms wound tightly around their waists as they hide back into his neck. "G-Get aw-way f-f-fuh-fuh-from m-m-muh-me or I s-swear I'll -- I'll --"

"You'll what?" Connor asks, sneering, Vic and Belch looming over them.

"No rocks to throw, Denbrough," Vic says, glaring down at Georgie.

"Cry to your whore mom? Your drunk dad? Your --"

Nastiness doesn't even begin to describe Connor's grin. The Losers' dolls all scowl.

"-- clown _fuck buddy_? No wonder your little brother got the first doll. You made sure of it, didn't you?"

His eyes stray over to Beverly, who glares right back at him, her fist clenched tightly around her own doll, looking quite prepared to throw the first punch.

The look on the doll's faces are all the same. The message is quite clear.

 _Do it_.

"Or was it you?"

She doesn't answer, but it takes Mike and Stan, Richie and Eddie, to hold Ben back from throwing himself at Connor, fists flying. Bill almost wishes they would let him go, because anger is surging through him, coursing through his veins, like electricity.

"Y-Y-You g-g-going to b-b-beat m-me up then?" Bill snaps. He doesn't swear often, but he can't help but be angry. "Or h-hide like a b- _bitch_ behind them?"

Connor glares at him, his own fists clenched. Bill watches his hand rise, his arm reeling back --

\-- he holds Georgie and Roberta even more closely, making sure Georgie is behind him, turning his body so that if he does get hit, the three of them don't get hurt --

\-- Eddie has actually let go of Ben, Richie now holding him back as Stan and Mike hold Ben, only --

Screaming.

High-pitched and _loud_.

Blinded but righteous fury.

Deep blue eyes wide with _rage_.

Yet it's almost comical how Beverly is able to throw her doll into Georgie's chest, the boy catching it, before she throws herself at Connor Bowers.

She throws her entire body at him, knocking him back, not even trying to get an actual hit in with her fists but simply trying to shove him back away from Bill. Because after seeing that he was perfectly willing to hit Bill -- while holding two little girls, two little _babies_ \-- she wasn't angry.

She wasn't mad.

She wasn't even upset.

She was _fucking pissed_.

Because not even the circus is safe.

It is as instant as the snapping of fingers that Stan and Mike unintentionally let go of Ben in their shock, who quickly throws himself at Belch after seeing that he was about to yank Beverly by her hair off Connor.

Ben lets out a battle cry, just like back at the stream, and fists raised, fist flying, he goes after Belch.

More screaming.

Also high-pitched and loud.

Blinded but definitely righteous fury.

Dark brown eyes wide with _rage_.

Eddie throws himself at Vic, Richie quickly doing the same as Mike and Stan stand there, shocked. Eddie bends over and rams his head into the blond boy's stomach, knocking him down before throwing everything he's got at him. He doesn't need the distance of a stream and the promise of more rocks this time. He's got Richie, who quickly jumps onto Vic's back when the blonde boy stands back up, stumbling with an pissed off look on his face.

His poor glasses fall from his face again when Vic grabs at him with one hand, the other curled into a fist and trying to hit Eddie, the other lens getting cracked. Yet as he wraps his arms around Vic's neck, the older boy trying to throw him off as Eddie starts wailing on him, he doesn't find himself giving a shit. Even as Stan quickly grabs them, backing away just as quickly as to not get hit by Richie's flailing legs.

Beverly shoves Connor into one of the stands, startling the little man running it even as the rest of the little men, watching from their stands, start cheering her on. Then the kids around them see what's happening, and they start cheering too. More kids hear what's going on, hearing the screaming and yelling, swearing and brawling, and even the cheering. Soon enough, every kid in the circus is watching the fights unravel, every kid cheering it on. Even the little men are already placing bets with each other and even with the ticket seller who just appeared out of nowhere, who quickly starts eating popcorn as he watches the fight rather than break it up, giving Georgie and Roberta pieces of popcorn as well with the blades on his glove.

Even the _fish_ are watching the fight. As are the characters on the comic books. So are the dolls. Every single one of them. So is someone else.

"Fight! Fight! Fight!"

Gretta runs up and stands next to Stan and Mike, her eyes wide with curiosity and then shock as she sees the fight going on. Nobody realizes Henry isn't there to watch the fight. Gretta bites her lip, a debating expression crossing her face, and then --

"KICK HIS ASS, BEAVER-LY!"

Stan stares at her with shock. She glares at him, raising a fist as though preparing to hit him and he quickly looks away. Bill holds Georgie and Roberta as Georgie holds onto the back of his shirt. Stan, sensing no other options, gives Mike Richie's glasses before throwing himself into the fight, throwing himself at Belch even though, shockingly, Ben was faring pretty well on his own as the rest start brawling in the dirt. And then --

"Enough of that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "... wants to sell me something!"  
> \- I really wanted to have this reference in this chapter but couldn't figure out how to do it lol. I might have it later though, I don't know yet.  
> \- Thanks again for all the comments and kudos!  
> \- Let me know how it was in the comments below!  
> \- I quite liked writing this chapter despite the bullying part and I'm excited for the next one. Even though they totally ruined the whole big plan lol  
> \- Sorry again for any typos I might've missed!  
> \- Chapter fourteen is on the way!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I had this chapter posted up but I had messed up. I posted it before I was finished writing and editing and I felt so horrible for deleting the comment that was posted. Welp, here it is and fifteen is coming soon! It's gonna be big!  
> \- I am very happy with this chapter even though they totally ruined Robert's big entrance plan lol. Also, warning for Connor using bad words against Beverly  
> \- Finally, there's a song in this chapter, though I did partially use Family Guy's version to write it. I've got more planned, that's for squares. Bold & Italics is All, Italics is Robert  
> \- If any of y'all have watched Married with Children, then imagine Ben holding Belch like Bud was holding that blonde guy when he and Al got into a bar fight at the nudie bar  
> \- And when I picture Georgie and Roberta laughing, I picture Boo from Monster's Inc. I've got something else in mind for later, too  
> \- Theories, theories, so many theories!  
> \- Let me know how it was in the comments below! Sorry again for any typos and sorry about posting this too early and then deleting that comment!

Almost comically, everyone is silenced, Bill blinking as his brain registers what he just heard. Or, rather, _who's_ voice he just heard. Another thing that sounds vaguely familiar, but he can't quite place it. It had cut through the loudness of the cheering and the fight itself does stop, though Ben still has Belch bent over, stuck in a choke hold (shockingly not the other way around) and Ben punches him one more time in the face before stilling completely, the older boy giving him a dirty look despite the pain he was obviously feeling. The crowd parts as a man dressed in a clown suit steps forward, murmurs echoing throughout the crowd.

Only, it's murmurs of _interest_.

From the girls in the crowd and even a few of the boys, some of them now giggling and fawning. Almost swooning, even. Eddie, however, is now giving the clown a suspicious look, while Richie is giving him (the clown) a dirty one, since Eddie was definitely one of the ones that had fawned before quickly becoming suspicious.

Bill feels his lips part as he stares at the clown with faint shock, both the Georgie behind him and the Georgie in his arm and Roberta giving him big grins as the ticket seller stares at him knowingly, that last one still eating his popcorn instead of breaking apart Beverly and Connor, Richie and Eddie and Vic, and Ben and Belch. Stan, of course, was now standing off to the side, not having really thrown himself into the fight as there was no real need to.

Ben was tougher than he looked. Bill knew it was bruising Belch's ego, more than his face, to know that he got his ass kicked by a thirteen-year old. One he had previously bullied, no less.

The very same as the clown from the kitchen, the Other Robert or Pennywise. He was a tall man with a handsome face, high and prominent cheekbones, though Bill can't help but notice a strong difference between this clown and the Other one. This clown's cheekbones are especially prominent, because his cheeks don't seem to have any actual fat on them or any sort of meat, as though he weighs less than the Other one, or he's not eating properly so he's losing weight. His eyes are a little sunken in, too, but they're definitely _blue_.

 _Really_ blue.

Deep coloring, rich shading.

Bill feels his knees quiver and he doesn't miss Eddie's doing the same. Neither does Richie, though he only notices Eddie's, thankfully.

He has the very same head full of soft looking, dark brown hair, only its combed over to the right side of his head instead of the left, unlike the first clown Bill had met. The suit, however, is the very same as Eddie and Georgie had described it, the former in more graphic detail than the latter.

Completely white, faintly yellowing, vaguely Elizabethan, more like those worn by Italian opera clowns, rather than those at a carnival, with bright colors and cheerful decorations with clashing colors. The shoulders are puffy, he's wearing a fitted doublet, and stockings. A starched ruff around his neck and ruffled wrists, with three deep red pom poms running down his front, and a deep red pom pom on each of his white, laced up boots. White gloves are on his large, but surprisingly thin looking hands. It's as though he's lost so much weight, that even his hands are losing the meat on them. Bill can hear the jingling of little bells, the very same as Eddie and Georgie had described, the latter having drawn it to show Bill, as the clown approaches.

He doesn't make a sound when he steps, Bill can't help but notice. And while all of the boys and girls are whispering eagerly to each other, he also can't help but notice the ticket seller glancing at Dorsey Corcoran, Cheryl Lamonica, Esther Sinclair, and then back at the clown.

His face is painted, just the same as the drawing and both Georgie and Eddie's descriptions, the very same as the baby in Bill's arm, but different than the clown from the kitchen. There is white greasepaint on every inch of visible skin, behind even his ears and under his jaw, with red lipstick on his full lips, and red paint running from the corners of his mouth all the way up his cheeks and stopping just above his eyebrows and the tip of his nose, just like Georgie's, is painted red.

He reminds Bill of the clown he had seen on the trapeze, but slightly different. The lack of a bulbous head and fluffy ginger hair were the two specific things that came to mind, but something else was amiss.

He is definitely handsome, however, but he's also clearly annoyed. He even gives the ticket seller an unimpressed look as he passes by, the ticket seller giving him an almost childish grin in return. Though, there is a glint in his eyes that is purely knowing and the clown's own eyes narrow in return even though they're looking in two different directions, as Eddie had described.

"Get this fucking whore off of me!" Connor snaps at the clown.

He clearly thinks that since Beverly had thrown herself at him first, having technically struck first, then she is in the wrong and will be punished instead of him. He's also clearly hopeful that he's successfully made sure she and the Losers will not only get kicked out of the circus, but probably even banned. For good.

Beverly growls, her teeth clenched, her eyes wide with anger, as she curls her hand into a fist, reeling her arm back --

The clown just watches, doesn't even try to stop her, an almost bored expression on his face, as she punches Connor in the mouth. The boy's head snaps to the side and as much as Bill doesn't like him, he knows that it had to _hurt_.

"You fucking bitch!"

The clown doesn't even flinch at the next hit. Doesn't even blink.

"That's what you get for calling her a whore," the clown says simply, his just as deep and rich as his eyes, just as Eddie had described.

Bill doesn't miss the fawning, giggling, and swooning of more of the girls, and even a few of the boys. Richie certainly doesn't miss Eddie's legs jiggling like jelly, a pout crossing his lips. Bill was certain that if he wasn't still holding Vic around the neck in a choke hold, he would have his arms crossed to complete the picture of a pout. The clown either doesn't notice the giggling or he doesn't care, because he turns to the ticket seller with that same unimpressed expression on his face.

"Couldn't have bothered, could you?"

The ticket seller just shrugs, his eyes still glinting.

"He started it."

Neither one of them seem at all bothered by the fact that Beverly is still hitting Connor, punching him in the face with each fist. Left and then right. Right and then left. Nobody else tries to break them apart even though blood is splattering to the ground, just as Ben isn't letting of Belch's head and the older boy is failing to pry his fingers off, though Vic has knocked Richie off his back and shoved Eddie down.

"You're Mr. Gray, aren't you?" Gretta asks the clown as she steps forward, a big, almost hopeful grin on her face. "I'm Gretta Keene."

She's grinning, toothily, still chewing her gum, her eyes alight and wide with that same hopeful look. The clown turns towards her, looking just as unimpressed as before if not more.

"Oh," he says, "I don't care."

A few snickers run through the crowd as Gretta's grin dies almost instantly, the girl looking shocked. Then pissed. The clown ignores her, however, and turns to Belch and Ben.

"Move it, pork chop," he snaps at the two, though Bill isn't exactly sure who he's insulting.

Judging by the fact that he's glaring at Belch, however, Bill will assume it's him rather than Ben. Reluctantly, very reluctantly, Ben does let go of Belch's neck, the latter looking like he wanted to get one last hit in but he decides against it. Bill knows it's only because the clown is giving him a dirty look, as though he knew that was what Belch was thinking.

"GET THE FUCK OFF ME!" Connor screams, holding his arms in front of his face to protect himself. "I'M NOT INTO SKANKS!"

It's almost comical, and depressive, how nobody still bothers to stop Beverly from hitting him.

"He just keeps asking for it, doesn't he?" the clown asks the ticket seller, who shrugs again.

"Bullies were never really my area of expertise," the ticket seller says simply. "My kids only dealt with ignorant, negligent parents and really shitty doctors."

He's smiling in a way that reminds Bill of the clown from the kitchen. A look of remembering something quite fondly, and missing it so.

"Yeah," the clown says before sighing, looking even more annoyed. "Had a whole big plan, was going to have the Wonka entrance. Depp, not Wilder --"

"Don't talk to me about Depp," the ticket seller says, shaking his head.

The clown ignores him as he continues muttering, to himself. The way he's talking, almost ranting, reminds Bill of Eddie. It's almost funny.

"-- but no, no, snot-nosed little brats just had to ruin that, didn't they?" he grumbles. He doesn't even really seem to be aware of his surroundings. His eyes are even quite vacant looking, almost glassed or glazed over. "Delightful. Hilarious. Hysterical."

"I don't think this guy has enough quarters to make a buck," Bill hears someone mutter from behind him.

The clown scowls, even as both Georgie and Roberta blow raspberries.

"I heard that," the clown says unhappily. He turns back to Beverly, who is now holding Connor's shirt with one hand, holding her other fist up and readying herself to hit him again. Her knuckles are bruised, but not as much as Connor's face. His nose doesn't appear to be broken, but there is blood splattered all over his mouth. "Off the whining pile of festering meat, Marsh."

Beverly stops, her fist halfway to connecting with Connor's nose again. She sighs even as her lips twitch from the insult directed at the blonde boy. She does get off him, having sat on his legs and wailing on him. She stands up and brushes herself off, sniffling.

Her hair is messy and all over the place, looking quite wild and as though she just got out of bed. Her eyes are still wide with anger and she's shaking, head to toe, but Bill guesses that it's from the adrenaline rush rather than her upset. The short sleeve on her dress is torn from where Connor had grabbed at her, and there's a red mark on her cheek from where he had hit her with flailing fists. Ben looks like he wants to throw himself at Connor when he spots the mark, but the clown gives him a look, as though he knows that's what the boy is thinking and intending on doing, so Ben lowers his eyes, glaring at his own bruised knuckles.

The clown closes his eyes and mutters incoherent words under his breath, his brows knitted with a faintly annoyed expression on his face.

"I can fix that," he says, pointing at her sleeve. "Can't fix stupidity though."

He says these words as he opens his eyes, both drifting back to look at Connor. The boy spits out a little bit of blood, his teeth and his shirt stained with it. His mouth is swelling as well, purple and black already decorating his skin.

"She attacks me --" he says, stumbling as he starts to stand, slurring on his words a little, his blue eyes wide with anger, "-- and it's _my_ fault?"

The clown pierces him with a look before bending over slightly, pressing his hands against his knees as he gazes down at the boy. He's still slightly taller, even when bent over. He stares at him with an equally dirty look.

"She _attacked_ you," he begins, his words slow and his tone unimpressed, "because you tried to hit Billy, who was, at the time, holding two little babies. He's still holding them."

Connor glares at him before glaring at Bill, Georgie, and Roberta, as though this is still somehow their fault instead of his. He wipes his bloodied mouth with the back of his hand, glaring at the red that stains the backs of his fingers.

"And I can assure you, if you ever try to hurt anyone else again in my circus, little kids especially, there won't be enough of your mutilated carcass left for the police to find. Not even your uncle," the clown says, his eyes dark and full of promise. A wide grin then stretches across his face, his cheeks stretching as the painted lines on his face expand. It's astounding how it looks almost childish, but sly and mischievous at the same time. His blue eyes are even aglow with a wicked sort of delight. "Only, it won't be me that does you in. It'll be their --" he points with his thumb behind himself, at Georgie and Roberta, "-- _mama_."

"I'd like to see her try," Connor says, brushing the dirt off himself as he helps himself up.

The clown wasn't offering his hand. Neither were Belch or Vic, unsurprisingly.

The clown just shakes his head, a knowing look on his painted face.

Bill is somewhat satisfied to see that his face is swelling up with deep bruises that look like they're going to last a while. He doesn't like having bruises himself, and he can empathize with anyone else who does, but Connor had started the fight. He had tried to attack Bill when he was holding two little babies after insinuating something nasty about Bill and the clown. Bill honestly thinks that Connor might actually be worse than Henry, which is saying something.

"Go clean yourself up, you look like blood filled shit," the clown says.

Only the ticket seller seems to notice the flaring of the clown's nose, the slow closing of his eyes as he inhales the stink of blood that has permeated the air. A low growl bubbles in the pit of the clown's chest, an almost _hungry_ sort of sound. The carnival music blasts even louder, masking the noise. The ticket seller stares knowingly at him, however, as the clown's mouth starts to salivate. The clown swallows thickly, trying his best not to inhale or let a drop of drool pass his lips.

Bowers smells rancid anyhow. Almost tasteless.

Connor glares at the clown one more time before storming off to the bathroom, Belch and Vic following him. Belch gives Ben one last look of pure and utter loathing as Vic tries to shove past Georgie, but Bill holds his ground and Roberta smacks at the blonde boy when he steps too close.

"Party's over," the clown says, standing upright and turning towards the crowd, most of the kids promptly booing him. "Go 'boo' yourselves!" he snaps. "Show starts in five minutes. Either watch it or don't, I really don't give a shit."

"Such a cheerful fellow, aren't you?" the ticket seller asks, grinning.

"Shut up and go back to the bus," the clown snaps at him.

The crowd parts and thins, some of the kids laughing at the fact that Connor Bowers got beaten up by a girl, others congratulating Beverly on kicking his ass and winning, shocking the girl and making her cheeks turn pink as she smiles sheepishly, while others compliment Ben on taking down Belch on his own, others sneering at Bill as though they agree with Connor that he had started it, while others make crude gestures with their fingers and point to him and then the clown.

"You keep using your fingers like that and you'll only wish they'll get broken off," the clown snaps, prompting them to stop.

What was weird, however, was the fact that he wasn't even looking at the kids who were doing it. His back was even turned to them, so he couldn't have seen the gestures at all...

... right?

Gretta also gives the clown a dirty look before storming away with her girl friends, a sock puppet in one hand and her doll in the other.

Georgie runs out from behind Bill and hugs the clown around the waist as the ticket seller stares at Bill, giving him an almost sly wink before departing as well. He returns to the bus while the little men return to their workplaces, handing each other what looks like cocoa beans. The clown, however, is giving the ticket seller a dirty, almost suspicious look, even as he pats Georgie, quite awkwardly, as though uncomfortable by the hug, on his head.

"Wow," Richie says, standing up as Mike hands him his glasses, both of the lens completely cracked. "I really thought we were screwed there."

"Nope," Georgie says simply, pressing his forehead into the clown's stomach.

The clown grumbles even as Bill, Beverly, Ben, Eddie, Stan, Richie, and Mike all stare at him. Georgie and Roberta are looking between him and Bill with strange expressions. As though comparing them to something or someone else they may have seen once before.

"Next time, go for the throat if you're going to punch him," the clown tells Beverly, his voice monotone.

She grins even as Eddie glares at him.

"Advocating violence, nice."

"Says the kid who rammed Vic," the clown says, not missing a beat. "And not sexually."

Eddie's cheeks turn pink, then red, as Richie stares down at his glasses, looking annoyed. Beverly laughs at the look on Eddie's face.

"By the way, the fuck is wrong with you?" Richie asks the clown. "Who the fuck has their party bus fall into the fiery pits of Hell? Is that some kind of subtle insult towards gay people? And what's with Thing One and Thing Two?"

Both Georgie and Roberta blow raspberries at him. Bill can't help but laugh.

"Party buses are fun," the clown says. "And they're visiting."

Though, judging by the look he gives Georgie and Roberta, and the sly grins they give him right back, Bill realizes they weren't supposed to be running about by themselves. He can't help but smile as they lean their heads against his shoulders again, as though he'll protect them.

"You call that shit fun?" Eddie asks unhappily, looking ready to go into a rant. "Falling into the fiery pits of Hell after you steal a scene from a Wes Craven movie is not fucking fun!"

"I didn't say it was fun for you," the clown says, smiling that same sly, almost childishly mischievous, but definitely wicked smile again.

His starry blue eyes seem to glitter as he does. Bill feels strange in his stomach. Almost fluttery. He swears he recognizes that smile from _somewhere_ , but he still can't quite place it.

"Show's in five minutes, just follow the balloons. Or don't watch it, whatever floats your boat," the clown says as he pries Georgie from his waist, though it's clearly a difficult task as Georgie clings on like a koala bear. It obviously makes the clown uncomfortable, though. He then looks at Georgie and Roberta, who giggle and hide their faces in Bill's neck again, both grinning cheekily, as though they really do think Bill can and will protect them. The clown's expression is stern, but it's clear there is some amusement laced under his discomfort. "You two --"

Both laugh, shrill and high-pitched, childish and delighted, and they don't let him finish before they're quickly climbing down out of Bill's arms like little monkeys, almost taking Bill to the ground with them, before running away, their little feet pattering on the ground as the clown chases after them, almost taking Georgie with him until Bill grabs his little brother by the back of his shirt. The Losers and Georgie can hear both little girls laughing childishly as they try to disappear into the crowd of kids.

They watch the clown bend down and snatch both of them up, and Bill is certain his eyes are screwing with him again because it looked like the clown's arms had extended farther than normal, as though he had stretched out like Mr. Fantastic or Freddy from the first _A Nightmare on Elm Street_ , and then he carries both under his arms as they giggle and laugh cheerfully, kicking their little legs out as they grin at Bill, their eyes wide with childish delight, before all three clowns disappear into the crowd.

"Why do I feel like he's still the cool parent?" Richie asks, still staring unhappily at his glasses.

"Probably," Beverly says, pulling her torn sleeve up onto her shoulder, though it just slides right back down. "He seems pretty cool."

"I told you so," Georgie says smugly.

"I can't believe you fought Bowers," Richie tells Beverly as he puts his glasses back on his face, the cracks on each lens amplifying his eyes and clearly obscuring his vision. They look like distorted little hands or even spider webs made of glass. Eddie scowls at him and carefully takes them from Richie's face, shaking his head and muttering about the dangers of broken glass. Bill just shakes his head as Stan rolls his eyes. "And _won_."

"Did you doubt my abilities?" Beverly asks, grinning as she lifts her arm and holds her bicep with the other hand, flexing. Ben's smile is dorky as he looks at her. "I can't believe you took down Belch," she says, grinning at Ben.

"It was nothing," Ben says shyly, but it's clear he likes the attention she's giving him.

"I'm more surprised he lived to tell the tale," Richie says bluntly, Ben staring at him unhappily as Beverly smirks slightly.

"Give it time," Eddie says darkly. "They'll be back for more, what do you want to bet?

"I don't want to," Stan says unhappily.

Richie turns towards Bill, blinking through what Bill knows is blurry vision.

"What was with the accessories anyway?"

"Don't call them that," Bill says quietly, not even stuttering.

He knows Richie isn't being mean about it, he certainly isn't saying it mockingly, as Connor had, but he knows it's going to bother him. He honestly couldn't believe how calm the clown had been about the fight as well, and he was actually grateful for it. He couldn't imagine ending up kicked out of the circus, if not banned entirely, if the clown had taken Connor's side or even decided to throw all of them out.

An almost offended look crosses the faces of the dolls, as though they can't believe what they're hearing. Though, they're all looking at Bill and then each other, as though they can't understand where his doll is at.

Though, Bill didn't understand how the clown could have known that Connor was the one who had started the fight, was about to hit first, hit Bill no less, and while he was holding Georgie and Roberta, and then the fact that Beverly had threw herself at him. Bill didn't understand since there had been nobody else in sight and none of the little men nor the ticket seller would have had the time to tell him what had happened before he showed up... then again, Bill had been more focused on Beverly beating on Connor than anything else... and it was entirely possible one of the little men had gone to get him, but Bill didn't think so.

"I m-m-muh-met th-them w-when I c-came downstairs," Bill says awkwardly, acutely aware of the fact that Mike and Beverly were now staring at him with similar expressions of concern, though Beverly was still clearly smug about her fight with Connor, even as she rubs her bleeding knuckles. "Th-They w-were alone, s-so I w-w-was l-l-luh-luh-looking f-for you guys with them... then B-B-Bowers saw at the p-p-puh-puh-puh-pavilions," Bill says quietly. "He s-started it... called them accessories... and g-got m-muh-mad when H-Huh-Henry told him to stop."

They all stare at him as their brains register the words that just came out of his mouth. He smiles at them, understandingly, because he still doesn't quite get it himself.

"Henry Bowers told his little cousin to stop bullying you?" Richie asks slowly, clearly confused.

Georgie is the only one who looks pleasantly surprised. He's also grinning. Everyone else is staring at him with shocked expressions, Ben's hand on his stomach where Bill knows his cut is at, Mike while holding his arm, Beverly with hers now folded over her chest, and Eddie, Stan, and Richie with equally bemused expressions.

"Yeah," Bill says, awkwardly holding his own arm, similar to Mike. "Huh-He w-was m-making n-n-nuh-nasty c-comments about the c-clown... about w-why I was g-gone..."

He says this awkwardly, almost shyly, and his face burns with embarrassment even though he knows his friends aren't going to mock him for the rumors. Beverly especially. She's even staring at him with empathetic eyes.

"The same ones Gretta likes to spread about me?" she asks, her voice soft.

"Yeah," Bill says quietly, sniffling.

"What rumors?" Georgie asks, curious.

"Don't worry about it," Richie says quickly.

Georgie stares at him unhappily as he hugs Bill close.

"That's rough, buddy," Stan says sympathetically.

All of his friends understand how he feels, or at least they're trying. Mike and Beverly understand more than the rest how it feels to have dirty rumors spread about them, the nasty, foul whispers that linger like a disease. Eddie and Richie understand how it feels to have it spread about them, too, in a sense, but they have yet to be fully ostracized by anyone else in Derry. Only by Bowers and his goons, but that wasn't a surprise. Ben and Stan knew how it felt to be bullied, though their experience stemmed from physical pain and verbal humiliation.

Georgie has never faced bullying personally. Billy has never allowed it, he thinks. He never really interacted with Henry Bowers or his friends before, because he wasn't as old as Billy. Not until that day at the stream when they met Mike, when he had thrown a rock at Henry, apologized, was shoved down by the face, and hugged Henry all in one. He had made Vic angry, but had yet to actually face anything serious.

Unfortunately, he was going to. Sometime soon.

"He got what he deserved," Eddie says quietly, his dark eyes wide with anger.

"He'll be back for more," Beverly says, lowering her eyes. "They usually do. If they don't get a reaction, then they get physical. We humiliated them... twice... they'll be back," she says darkly, shaking her head. She looks at Bill and smiles again, unaware of the faint jealousy that flickers on Ben's face.

The button eyes on the dolls roll again.

"They were nice, though. The clown girls."

"Define 'nice'," Ben says. He isn't trying to be mean, though. Certainly not to Beverly. "I'm pretty sure one of them wanted to punch me in the face."

"I think one of them wanted to eat mine," Mike says, clearing his throat awkwardly.

Bill can't help but smile, wanting to laugh, especially as Georgie wraps his arms around his waist, his hug warm and comfortable.

"I didn't know he had kids," Georgie says.

"G-G-Guh-Georgie w-was on the TV," Bill says, smiling as Georgie looks up at him, a curious expression on his little face. "Th-This m-muh-morning. Y-You saw her."

"I saw both," Richie says.

Eddie points at him, having saw both of them as well.

"Same," Mike says, clearing his throat again.

"Her name is Georgie, too?" Beverly asks, grinning again. "Well, that's cute. Who's the other one?"

"R-R-Rob-berta," Bill says, still smiling.

"Nice. There's two of them. Double the trouble," Richie says, his tone sarcastic.

"Actually th-they s-said they huh-have l-l-luh-lots of s-siblings," Bill says. "B-B-Brothers and s-sisters. Th-They mentioned one, n-nuh-named E-E-Etty."

"Etty?" Beverly asks. "Is it short for something? Like Henrietta?"

Bill just shrugs as Richie grimaces.

"Great. We've already got one Henry. We don't need to of them," he says unhappily.

"Shut up, Richie," Eddie mutters.

Bill shakes his head as he continues smiling. He doesn't know what Etty is short for, but figures Henrietta makes the most sense. Georgie and Roberta mentioned that they weren't named after their namesakes in the way someone was expecting, so he guesses that if one of their sisters is named Henrietta, then she's definitely named after someone named Henry. He doubts, however, that she would be named after Henry Bowers of all people.

The dolls share a look, amused smiles coming to their little faces.

"S-So, are w-we g-going to the sh-show?" Bill asks.

The Losers share a look, but --

\-- Richie speaks up, his words making Bill's stomach plummet.

"Where have you been anyway?" he asks, Mike and Beverly looking like they had also wanted to ask but had refrained from doing so, perhaps to respect Bill's privacy. Both of them were now giving Richie unimpressed looks. "Georgie's been looking for you for three hours now."

Bill lowers his eyes as needles laced with guilt pierce his insides again, especially as Georgie burrows his face deeper into Bill's stomach, just as the other Georgie had done into his neck. Almost as though they're mice and Bill is their home. It's actually quite endearing, heartwarming, even.

Bill doesn't want to make his friends worry, Georgie especially after the incident in the grocery store and then when his dad had acted weird in the kitchen, but it doesn't feel very right to lie to his friends either. He doesn't even think he can get away with lying, because both Beverly and Mike are staring at him with looks of empathy, looks of knowing.

"I... I took a n-n-nuh-nap," Bill says, half truthfully. "I didn't f-f-fuh-feel g-good."

It is half of the truth, assuming that standing upright for quite possibly two to three hours can be considered a nap. He has no intention of telling them about the bathroom if he can avoid it. He just hopes the clown in the kitchen keeps that information to himself -- well, _her_ self...

He still doesn't get that.

"In some stranger's house?" Richie asks, looking faintly disturbed.

"You're not sick are you?" Eddie asks worriedly, taking a step back and looking ready to yank Georgie away from him.

Georgie looks up at Bill worriedly, his eyes falling onto Bill's arm where the slashes are hidden under his sleeve and under gauze.

"I'm fine," Bill says.

That was a lie.

He just doesn't want to talk about it.

"He's not a stranger anyway," Georgie says. "He's our friend. He didn't even get mad that you got into a fight in his circus."

"Still pretty fucking creepy," Richie says.

"Shut up, Richie," Beverly says, shaking her head.

Georgie is about to burrow his face back into Bill's stomach, but he notices that Bill isn't holding his doll anymore. And he's missing the black rectangular box that the ticket seller had given him.

"Where's your doll?"

Bill flinches as the Losers realize he's missing it.

"I-I-I m-muh-must huh-have l-luh-luh-left it in the b-b-b-bathroom," he says.

He doesn't even look at Georgie as he speaks. He misses Mike and Beverly share a worried look.

"Better go get it back, dude. Might not get back in if you don't," Richie says.

"Want to go find it?" Georgie asks.

"M-Muh-Muh-Maybe l-l-later," Bill says, giving him a small smile.

He mostly just doesn't want to go back into the house, because he doesn't want to feel that feeling of eyes watching him again. None of them notice the dolls sharing a frightened look. Bill swallows as he sees that all of them are staring at him. Every face is concerned and as heartened as he is to know that he has such good friends, he can't help but feel like a specimen under a microscope. Ogled at by everyone that uses it.

"So, d-did I m-m-muh-miss anything?" he asks, smiling awkwardly. He mostly just wants to change the subject but judging by the looks he gets from Mike and Beverly, he knows he isn't off the hook. He looks at Richie. "Other than y-you p-p-puh-peeing y-your pants?"

The Losers, except Eddie, laugh as Richie flips Bill off. Only, he flips off Stan on accident, since he was looking in the wrong direction.

"The show then?" Beverly asks.

The Losers share a look again.

"Want to share?" Georgie asks as they spot the last balloon, though Bill misses the question.

The white arrow is pointing at a small stage decorated with white and orange designs on the front of it, two small sets of stairs on either side, with an orange and white striped tent set up right behind it, curtains in the very center. He knows immediately that's how the performers are going to go in and out. There is a smaller, long black stage off to the right, just next to the first one, also leading off into another orange and white striped tent. Bamboo sticks are set up, propped together, on either side just in front of the large stage. He recognizes the scene from that movie with Dick Van Dyke, when his character was trying to avoid an angry customer.

His lips twitch as he smiles, noting that there were bleachers set up for the kids to sit on, unlike the movie, and the Losers and Georgie all sit together on the bottom bleacher in the middle section, just in front of the stage, Georgie halfway sitting on Bill's lap, and he can see Connor, Belch, Vic, and Henry all sitting on the bleacher off to the right, three out of four of the boys glaring at their group, most of the Losers glaring right back.

Henry, however, still has that same misty-eyed look, his eyes appearing like glass rather than actual eyes, quite vacant looking, as though his mind isn't with his body anymore. Bill thinks he is the only one who notices this, and he actually feels bad for Henry. The look on the older boy's face makes Bill think that Henry doesn't even know where he is anymore. He looks quite sad, too. His knees are propped up, his elbows resting on them, his hands dangling in front of his shins, and his head is lowered.

Bill does feel bad for him despite their bad history, though he still doesn't understand why the hell Henry Bowers of all people would try and stop his own cousin from bullying Bill when he has had no problem doing it for years. Unless it had to do with hinting at homosexuality, but Bill didn't think that was the case. He is grateful for Henry's potential change of heart, don't get him wrong, but he just doesn't understand where the hell it's coming from.

It can't be from the topic of homosexuality, because he had no problem telling Richie and Eddie off back at the arcade, and it can't be because of the nasty rumor Connor had tried to spread about Bill and the clown, because he pretty much did the same thing to Beverly about the two of them. Why would Henry even want to stop Connor from bullying Bill? Unless it wasn't for Bill, but who --

\-- "Bill? Do you want to share?"

The smell of chocolate, sweet and rich, hits Bill's nose as he realizes Georgie is sticking his opened Wonka bar right under it. He smiles and shakes his head. Georgie just shrugs and proceeds to take a large bite of it, his eyes quickly widening as he does, the chocolate touching his tongue.

Bill is about to take it away from him and start smacking him on the back of he's choking, or maybe he's worried there's something in it, but Georgie quickly turns away from him and shoves more in, chomping away at it almost hungrily as the chocolate practically melts instantly in his mouth. Bill shakes his head, amused, as he watches, still watching in case Georgie starts choking. The way he's eating it makes Bill think it must be either a really good dessert, or one of the best damn things Georgie's ever tasted.

What does that say about his cooking?

"Try to remember to chew," Richie comments, then he grins. "Remember these sage words. Make eye contact. Swallow, don't spit."

"Shut up," Bill and Eddie mutter at the same time as Georgie sticks a chocolate covered tonge out at Richie.

Bill is unable to stop his snort of laughter. Richie shrugs as he shares his bag of jumbo popcorn with Eddie, while Stan is staring longingly at the Milano and the Benatar, Ben and Beverly sharing cotton candy while Mike is spinning his football between his fingers. They are lined, right to left, in this order; Mike, Stan, Ben, Beverly, Eddie, Richie, Georgie, and Bill.

Though, Georgie is practically sitting on top of Bill's lap, his back pressed against his brother's stomach.

A strange thought tickles Bill's brain as he stares at Georgie happily chomping at the chocolate bar. He had been way behind them that day at the stream, when they met Mike, after the rock fight. _Way_ behind. He remembered that Georgie had thrown the three dolls, back when it was only three, his own, Stan's, and Eddie's, before throwing a rock at Bowers and nailing him right in the head, in the very same spot as Beverly... but that was only after Henry had made a nasty comment... then another... but this was also after every time Georgie had said that all Henry really needed was more hugs and better friends...

Georgie's hugs have always made Bill feel better... especially after the October incident... and he knows Georgie likes to make people smile... his stomach feels hollow as his heart beats erratically... He realizes, with a strange feeling in the pit of his belly, that there was no way just picking up the dolls he had thrown down would have taken as long as it had... Georgie had been behind the train tracks, the Losers almost halfway back to the Barrens, just before Ben showed them where the clubhouse was... It was a bit of a distance... and since then... Henry hadn't been as mean as he had been to Bill... almost... less inclined to bully him...

He also realizes that Bowers has been giving him empathetic looks, though he doesn't think the blonde boy realizes he's doing it... when his stomach had rumbled in the house, hungrily, and the kids had stared at him, namely Georgie, who was clearly worried, and Bowers, who had a look on his face that easily said he knew how it felt to be hungry... and Bowers, he realizes, had been looking at his _face_ , not even Georgie and Roberta... the bruises on his jaw pulse and throb painfully...

As Bill's thoughts start to race, the boy remembering every sad, empathetic look Henry had given him since that day at in the Barrens, after the rock fight, he completely misses the fact that Henry is doing it again. Not that the blonde boy realizes it, of course.

Connor, however, does. And he glares at Bill. The younger boy's lips part, however, when he realizes the dolls are glaring right back at him. His own doll doing the very same. He blinks, the glares returning to their normal smiles, but he _knows_ what he saw.

"Georgie," Bill starts, almost hesitant, as though he's scared of getting the answer, even as Georgie stares curiously up at him, his entire mouth smeared with chocolate, which he's licking at with his tongue as he licks at his fingers. "Did you --"

Bill's question is cut off when he hears the sound of a tambourine jingling just as performers start bustling out from behind the curtains of the tent, walking out onto the stage. Some of them have more instruments in their hands, two have trombones, another has clash cymbals, and the other two have an accordion and a banjo. He can faintly hear xylophones, though he doesn't see anyone with them.

He smiles when he sees the performers, well over a dozen men, including Robert (who he spots instantly), are all wearing the same costumes as the ones from the movie. They all have on brown colored pants and white long sleeved-shirts, their sleeveless vests earth-toned, though Robert, like Van Dyke, is wearing dark brown pants. They're all wearing the pale hats with flowers on them, too.

He spots Robert easily, because of the dark brown pants as well as the fact that he's the only one wearing the clown gloves, as though he was unwilling to part with them, and he's still wearing the clown makeup. Though, he quickly realizes that the clown is trying to get away, almost like Van Dyke, but his expression is much more...

... scared?

It's almost as though he's looking for something or someone, though Bill doubts it's Georgie or Roberta, since they're currently eating Richie's popcorn while sitting on Beverly's lap, smiling smugly at both Ben and Richie.

As the men start to spin and start dancing, the music playing joyfully in the background, though oddly, Bill realizes that the performers all look to be the same ones from the film even though it came out about twenty-one years ago... he remembers his mom said it was one of her favorites as a kid, his heart longing for her, but they all don't look like they've aged a day. The only one missing is Van Dyke. However, he notices that Robert tries to scurry away like a spider off the stage, only to freeze in his tracks, like a deer caught in headlights, when he spots something.

Bill realizes the clown is looking at _him_ and quickly looks around the bleachers, as he's almost sitting on the end, though there is a free spot right next to him, but sees nothing on the side of the bleachers. The rest of the circus is empty, too. All of the kids were at the show. So what the hell was the clown looking at with such a petrified expression?

He missed the large shadow with buttons for eyes scurrying behind the bleachers before diving right under them. Under the very one the Losers are sitting on. He doesn't realize that the clown is looking between their feet, seeing the button eyes between his and Georgie's ankles, flickering in the darkness like pale and dim orange lights in the shadows. Nobody else saw this, except for Henry, who had been staring at Bill, and therefore was the only one able to spot the shadow, though he doesn't see the button eyes.

Henry's own eyes widen as Robert stares at him questioningly before the clown grimaces, as though in pain, his gloved fingers brushing over the back of his head before running back onto the stage.

Cymbals clash as the trombones blast about, the performer with the accordion grinning merrily. Kids are already cheering. Bill looks back at the stage and sees that the clown is back on it, and wonders if it was perhaps the ticket seller doing something he wasn't supposed to be, or maybe the clown from the kitchen... he shakes his head as he holds Georgie's hand instinctively. He can't help but smile though as the performers start to sing, the ones in the pale brown pants perfectly choreographed, while Robert is clearly going with the flow and trying to keep up while trying not to panic at the same time. He goes to the middle, almost running back into the tent, until the one of the performers grabs him by the back of his shirt and pulls him around so that he's facing the kids.

They dance as they sing, crossing one leg over the other, imitating leaning against a cane. It's clear Robert is watching them go and copying the best he can;

" ** _A gentleman's got a walking stick,_**

 ** _A seaman's got a gaff_**."

They spin around before getting down to one knee and imitate pulling an arrow from a quiver and aligning it to a bow;

" ** _And the Merry Men of Robin Hood,_**

 ** _They used their quarterstaff_**."

They all stand and clap their hands together, the sound echoing, Robert merely moments behind them, before they all press the backs of hteir hands to the sides of their mouths. It mostly reminds Bill of the clown from the kitchen when his stomach had growled hungrily. Yet he can't help but grin along with Georgie as his little brother bounces on his seat, tapping his feet to the rhythm of the music as the performers point to their waists where a sword would be sheathed before spinning around. Robert was still lagging, but clearly enjoying himself. Bill smiles as he sees the clown give him a wink and a grin;

" ** _On the Spanish plains inside their canes,_**

**_They hide their ruddy swords._ **

**_But we make do with an old bam-boo._ **

**_And everyone applauds_**!"

They all clap their hands together four times before spinning around, jumping up and down as they do, their feet tapping in rhythm to the beats.

" _ **One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.**_

 _ **HEY**_!"

The dancers jump off the stage, Robert included, as the other performers, the ones with the instruments, walk up each side of the steps, playing merrily. The dancers grab their bamboo sticks and one performer even hands a stick to Robert as they all bend their knees and tap their right feet and the sticks against the ground twice. In perfect rhythm.

" ** _Me ol' bam-boo, me ol' bam-boo._**

**_You better never bother with me ol' bam-boo._ **

**_You can 'ave me 'at or me bum-ber-shoo,_ **

**_But you better never bother with me ol' bam-boo_**."

They pull their hats off their heads as they lean the bamboo sticks against the ground, extending their arms out before placing the hats right back on their heads. Bill can't help his actually childish grin, as Robert still lags behind them. Only, Bill is grinning because he knows the lag is actually intentional. The grin on the clown's face is enough to tell him that, and Bill knows the clown is enjoying the attention. Just as Bill is enjoying the show.

More run up onto the stage as the ones with the instruments run off to the side, disappearing from view even though the music still plays loudly. The performers on the ground with Robert start singing as they lean their poles against the ground, propping themselves up against them.

" _ **When punting on the beautiful Thames**_ \--"

They all turn their heads to Robert, who presses his bamboo stick against the ground as he starts singing;

"-- _you use a sturdy pole_!"

The performers all stand and lean backwards now, pressing their hands against the ends of the poles as they lay their chins on the backs of their hands, staring at the clown;

" ** _To protect their fair complexion_** \--"

Robert pulls his hat off his head, placing it on the end of the pole as he spins it around;

"-- _ladies use a parasol_."

All of the performers, including Robert, though he's still mostly behind in his timing, get down to one knee and aim their poles like rifles as they start singing again;

" **It's useful in the underbrush** \--"

Robert stands, holding his above his head with one hand almost like a spear.

"-- _to have a hefty spear_!"

" ** _RIGHT_**!"

Just as they press the ends of their poles to the ground, propping themselves all down on one knee, Bill realizes that Georgie is smothered in chocolate and still avidly licking his fingers. He shakes his head as he grabs Georgie's wrist, making the boy pout as he leads him away. He misses the hurt look flash across the clown's face, though the show must go on. He doesn't realize Bill is still listening to the music, walking in rhythm, as he turns away and leads Georgie to the bathroom.

Though, his eyes flash from a starry, glittery blue to an ominous yellow when he spots the ticket seller heading that very same way, though he doesn't stop the show right then and there. His grip on his bamboo pole, however, tightens dramatically. All of the performers share worried looks. Especially since Georgie left his doll on the bleacher.

" ** _But what we do with an ol' bam-boo,_**

**_Makes everybody cheer!"_ **

**_One, two, three._ **

**_HO_**!"

"I'm _fine_ ," Georgie says, grumbling as Bill wipes at his chin and his little hands with a wet paper towel.

He sat Georgie up onto one of the bathroom sinks lining the white tiled wall, pressing Georgie's back against the mirror. With great struggle, of course, because Georgie kept trying to run away from him. While licking at his fingers, no less.

"K-K-Keep m-m-muh-moving and I'm g-getting B-B-Ben to huh-hold y-you down," Bill says, smiling as Georgie sticks his tongue out at him, the appendage still covered in chocolate. He wipes the paper towel on his tongue and Georgie makes a sound of disgust, cringing and spluttering. "I'll even m-make it a ch-choke huh-hold."

"It tastes terrible," he says, ignoring the comment about Ben, as Bill grabs his hand.

"It's p-p-puh-paper t-towel," Bill says, trying to stay firm and not smile as he taps his foot in rhythm to the music. He can't hear much of the singing anymore, though he can tell by the beats that they're at the part where they're dancing on the stage, only the music playing and no singing, and he feels bad for missing out on the show after what Georgie and Roberta said, and he knows Georgie wants to see it, but he's not going to have Georgie licking his own fingers. The dirty and pointed looks he was getting from Eddie didn't exactly help Georgie's case, either. "It's n-nuh-not s-supposed to t-taste good."

"No, but I'm guessing that Wonka Scrumdiddlyumptious bar did."

Bill and Georgie both jump, Georgie almost banging his head on the light just above the mirror, and turn at the sound of the ticket seller's voice, seeing him leaning one hand against the wall with the other propped up against his hip, staring at the both of them with a raised eyebrow. He's standing in the way of the door, Bill can't help but notice. He also can't help but notice he's not standing in front of the mirror.

"I thought Thing One and Thing Two told you he didn't want you to miss the show," he says, tapping a bladed finger against the tiled wall.

"S-S-Sorry," Bill says quickly as he wipes the last bit of chocolate from Georgie's fingers, tossing the dirtied towel into the bin. "C-Ch-Ch-Chocolate b-bar."

"Uh huh," the ticket seller says, grinning.

His eyes are glinting again as he avidly taps the blade against the tiled wall. Bill feels the hairs on the back of his neck prickle again, an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of his belly, though Georgie is just staring at the ticket seller curiously with a small smile.

"How'd he get a Wonka Scrumdiddlyumptious bar, anyway?" he asks, his eyes alight with that same childlike wonder. "Wouldn't he get in trouble for advertising without permission? Or did he get it?"

"Hey, that kid found that dollar in a storm drain, there's no way Stephen King didn't steal that idea already," the ticket seller says, still grinning. "I can't help but notice though, Billy, that you're missing your little buddy. You, too, Georgie."

Bill lowers his eyes.

"I'll f-f-fuh-find it," he says quietly. "Huh-His is on the b-b-bluh-bleachers."

"Yeah," the ticket seller says as he approaches.

Bill fails to realize he shouldn't have said that. Just as he and Georgie miss the ticket seller's reflection in the mirrors.

Instead of the middle-aged man with the round glasses in a ticket seller's uniform, his reflection is completely different. He wears a dirty brown hat, he's horribly burned, the razors on his right hand are even sharper as they glint in the mirror. He wears a red and green striped sweater and black pants that are smoked over, as though having been burnt alongside every inch of skin on his face. His teeth are all the more dirty and yellow, blackened and stained, jagged and sharp, as he grins. His steel blue gray eyes glint alongside his blades.

But at the moment, the ticket seller approaching reminds Bill of the grocery store, the feeling of being stalked by a deadly predator returning tenfold, even though he and Georgie miss the ticket seller's reflection in the mirror, and he can't help but step in front of Georgie, every protective instinct coursing through his veins, surging like electricity, even as he feels that same cold feeling washing over him. Only, it's slightly different, because he actually knows that it's the ticket seller and not potentially one of his dreams screwing with his mind.

He has no idea about the irony of that statement.

"Relax, buckaroo, I'm not gonna slice Georgie, but you did miss a spot," he says, pointing a bladed finger at Georgie sleeve, Bill sighing at the sight as he reaches for another paper towel. The ticket seller, almost quick as lightning, reaches for it first, "Let me --"

Bill yelps when he feels his skin being --

\-- Sharply --

\-- _Sliced_ \--

\-- _**Slashed** open_.

Hot and then wet.

Bill lets out a pained cry when he feels not one, not even two, but _three_ of the blades slashing his arm, inches above his wrist. The cuts are horizontal, each one right next to each other. Georgie jumps at the sight and whimpers fearfully as his eyes widen at the sight of Bill's _skin_ parting, _splitting_ open like a large fruit being _cut_ , _separating like sand_ , and then blood instantly welling up to the surface, bubbling out of the wounds, and then sliding down his wrist and his arm.

The ticket seller jumps, too. The ticket seller looks shocked and then apologetic. Freddy Krueger looks delighted and then entertained. One is panicking, the other is laughing.

It isn't just the ticket seller and Freddy Krueger that line applies to, however.

"Fuck -- fuck, shit, dammit, sorry, kid --" the ticket seller lowers the bladed hand, but Bill feels nauseous when he sees his own blood sliding profusely down the length of the blades, dripping wetly onto the white tiles.

Bill feels cold and sickly, his back feeling hot and sweaty almost instantly as his stomach lurches and everything feels fuzzy, just like back in the bathroom back in the mansion, as terrified as he was in the store, and he feels ready to pass out, but Georgie is with him and he'll be **_damned_ **if he's gonna let the ticket seller be alone with Georgie and his unconscious self. He presses his other hand onto the slashes, which pulse and throb under his fingers, his blood -- hot and wet and _nauseating_ \-- seeping right past his fingers and staining his hand as it slides down his arm.

They're _deep_. Not as deep as the slashes on his arm, thankfully, and each one about as long as his thumb, but enough for the blood to _gush_ and for the wounds to _hurt_.

He doesn't think he trusts the ticket seller anymore...

Though, he feels slightly bad for jumping to such conclusions when he realizes that the ticket seller is quickly grabbing paper towels, looking genuinely apologetic. He looks even frantic, almost like a parent fussing over their kid...

"Damn thing keeps doing that, I already sliced myself once... and two Oompa Loompas... shit, kid, I'm supposed to be making you smile and making sure you have fun. Not... this..." he says, holding his hand behind his back and handing Bill the paper towels with the hand not wearing the glove.

Bill stares at him, his eyes wide and already turning pink and glassy from the pain, even as he hesitantly takes the paper towel, Georgie whimpering again as he watches the blood gush, almost splattering, out of Bill's arm before he's pressing the paper towels to the spot. Only, it's somehow _worse_ , because it bleeds right through the paper towels, the red of it staining the white.

"Fucking hell, kid," the ticket seller says, still looking apologetic. "Just, run some water on it and... I'll grab a band-aid --"

"Gauze," Bill says quietly, not even stuttering.

"Right," the ticket seller says, looking awkward as Bill throws the bloodied paper towels into the bin, turning his back on the man as Georgie looks at his arm as he sticks it under the water.

Neither Bill nor Georgie realize the ticket seller grabbed the bloodied paper towels out of the bin, procuring a small vial from his inner pocket before departing, almost running out of the bathroom. They think, that by his running, he's frantic to get the medical supplies himself or even help. They don't realize that the former is not the case.

"Did he --?" Georgie looks up, his eyes wide and fearful.

Bill's insides clench and hurt at the terrified look on Georgie's little face. His eyes are glassed over, pink and teary. His lip is quivering, too.

"I don't think so," Bill says quietly, swallowing thickly as he grits his teeth, sticking his arm under the tap.

The water _fucking stings_.

He watches the red of his blood drip down into the drain with unseeing eyes. He doesn't know about the effect it is going to have, how could he? Just the same, as the red drips onto the porcelain of the sink and the silver of the drain, he doesn't know what the ticket seller is actually doing instead of getting the gauze.

Bill doesn't _think_ that the slashes were intentional. He seemed like he simply wanted to help with the paper towels, and he seemed genuinely apologetic... that didn't come often in Derry... but then again, _why_ did he go into the bathroom? If he had to go, why didn't he just go? Why make conversation? Or, why not just use any of the other bathrooms? Unless he had actually followed Bill and Georgie... but he hadn't done anything... other than the slashes, which _seemed_ accidental...

"I don't th-think he m-muh-muh-meant t-to," Bill says quietly, not sure if it was a lie or not but he didn't want to upset Georgie any further, the boy sighing as the blood keeps flowing, even as one of the little men runs into the bathroom with a frantic look on his little, masculine face.

Bill turns towards him, then blinks with shock when he realizes the little man is dressed in a nurse's dress instead of a doctor's outfit, or even a male nurse's outfit. He's even wearing high-heels and a little medical cap on his head. The man huffs at Bill's staring even as he takes Bill's arm gently into his little hands, Bill having to bend down to reach the man's height, which are surprisingly soft and remind him all the more painfully of his absent mother. Especially as, with the most tender of touches, he applies the proper medicine.

Bill has never felt more empathy for anyone in his whole life. And he plans on telling Ben that.

"Join Mr. Gray for dinner, dears?" the little man asks, his voice surprisingly feminine. Bill and Georgie both stare at him with shock, Georgie looking ready to start giggling. "You missed the rest of the show, you know. He's very sad."

"Oh," Bill says quietly, feeling bad. "S-S-Sure."

"Great!" the little man says, beaming, before offering Bill a small and thin blue cylinder with a sympathetic look on his little face. "Bite."

And then he sprays on the antibiotic, Bill's pained scream echoing in the bathroom.

None of them, _not even the clown_ , know what the ticket seller is doing with the blood soaked, still dripping paper towels and the vial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Thanks again for all the comments and kudos and even the theories!  
> \- Let me know what you thought about it in the comments below  
> \- I'll be seeing y'all in the next chapter!  
> \- Somebody's gonna get hurt. Maybe two, possibly three? Any guessers? Let's just say, y'all are gonna hate Connor, Belch, and Vic. Probably Uncle Freddy, too


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Chapter fifteen!  
> \- Whoo, lotta stuff in this chapter. All kinds of references to other horror movies! Yay! Including Doctor Sleep, Friday the 13th, The Grudge, A Nightmare on Elm Street, Hellraiser, Return of the Living Dead, Evil Dead, etc.  
> \- It's a Robert chapter ;)  
> \- Revelations!  
> \- Please note that the stuff for Friday the 13th is just my take on it. That book was in Jason Goes To Hell. So was Leroy Hanlon's actor  
> \- Song is from The Nightmare Before Christmas. Another Burton film. I've got another song in mind from another movie for later ;)  
> \- Let me know how it was in the comments below!  
> 

"Robert" stares at the pages of the book with unseeing eyes. He has already read and reread and read again each and every passage numerously, knowing each one by heart now. Yet the sad thing is that no matter how many times he rereads the book, he knows nothing in it will actually be able to help him. His gaze upon the old, faded, and yellowing pages is mostly vacant and sad now, rather depressive, and as he stares at the text and the images inked in human blood, he contemplates.

He knows what he _could_ do with a few of the passages just as he knows he _won't_ use a single one of them. He sees the passage for the awakening, still silently wondering why humans are stupid enough to recite the damn thing out loud, more than once, and even _record_ the reciting of it. "Robert" knows that it resulted in the deaths of many, in more ways than one. Yet even in his own unnecessary silence he flips through the pages with a slowness that mimics his sadness, especially as his stomach rumbles hungrily, startling the Pomeranian lying on his lap.

It sniffs at his stomach with its black little nose, confusion written all over its furry little face, reflecting deep within the depths of its black, shiny eyes. Though, the shine in the dog's eyes are flickering and fading, as though the dog is losing the light within its eyes and is slowly dying. "Robert" understands the implication, all too well. The Pomeranian shares his hunger, of course, and he guesses that this unintentional manifestation is his own inner confusion as to why he hasn't done anything about his hunger yet.

The little clown dolls on his desk, propped up against the mirror, that of a ginger-haired, blue eyed clown girl in a suit that matches his own, and that of a brown haired, bluish green eyed clown girl in a brightly colored clown suit, which the two made themselves after raiding his sewing kit, are part of the answer to that question. Of course, they used plastic eyes with actual coloring instead of black buttons. "Robert" knew that was intentional.

He shakes his head as his pale colored eyes, a powdery blue, a mirror to his sadness, return to the book, his stomach rumbling all the more hungrily as the Pomeranian whimpers sorrowfully.

Pitifully.

Pathetically, he would dare say.

 _Hungrily_.

He sees the passage for creating a rift in time and space as he continues flipping through the pages, the smell of human blood, old and stained, and rotted flesh quite repugnant. And yet these foul smells do nothing to silence his hunger, to sway him from desiring nothing more than to rip a human being apart, tear them limb from limb, as he feasts upon their flesh and feeds on their, gorging himself on their humanity. He sees the funerary incantations as well as the guides for various demons and the multitude of ways to summon them. A lot of human sacrifices are part of the requirement and the spell work.

The irony is not lost upon him.

He sees the prophecies, including Hero From The Sky, as well as the passage for the transferring of power to a human being.

That last passage, he trails his fingers over the pictures. The images even change, the book a sentient being, and the image on the page morphs and redraws itself into a clown character, himself, placing a light within a young boy's mouth in a mirror house... memories that are his own, and aren't at the same time, flicker through his head, replaying like a movie...

The genre is _horror_...

These memories, these bloodied images, they haunt him like the most vengeful of phantoms...

Instructions for brewing potions... his gloved fingers brush over the ways for using the magic within this book for rewriting history itself. He knows that one _could_ work, but at what cost? None of these are really what he needs, however, though his eyes do linger on the passage for creating the rift in time... the rewriting of history... the transferring of power to a human...

He shakes his head again. He dares not tamper with a mistress as delicate as time and alter the pathways of space. That is not what he seeks from this book, anyhow. What it is that this book of evil, of the dead and of humanity's darkest magic, has that he is looking for is the resurrection of the dead.

Ironically, the dead one that "Robert" is trying to resurrect is an _evil_ dead.

 ** _It_ **is.

"Robert" frowns. He frowns as he _remembers_.

Lesser beings wage war with each other endlessly, smaller gods and mortals fighting across a great expanse of endlessly spewed universes. A never ending battle of good and of evil. Well, "Robert" thinks grimly, a battle of evil and lesser _evil_.

He knows, from personal experience, and memories that are his and aren't, that there are far greater monsters than the ones the heroes in the stories and the films face. The ones that die at the end of the movie, killed by the hero who gets the girl. He knows, all too well, about the horrors that the town of Derry alone has to offer. That is a mere _fraction_ of a greater evil.

Humanity's evil.

Just the same, there are certain creations that exist simultaneously in a series of universes that coexist with each other, their cores somewhat the same but the outcome quite different. Sometimes only slightly, sometimes quite radically, that he will never forgive Maturin for creating.

A lonely little _fat boy_ sitting at the library, reading a book about a morbid history of a little town... years later, that fat boy would grow up to stomp away and kill, one by one, the little lifeforms dwelling deep within the heart of that little town's underground... he slaughtered them, one by one, like cattle... the _defenseless unborn_...

A _madman_ who stabs someone in the back, a billion old monster or not. 'Monster' was a relative term. That someone who was going to let him go for a second time, who did let him live... who had known the madman's intention and not even once had he fought back.

"Robert's" chest, where his heart still beats, aches with a familiar stabbing pain that is not his own. Not _really_. It is but it isn't.

He will never forgive Maturin for certain creations.

 _Never_.

Yet he knows, that by seeking this book and the other means for the resurrection of the dead, he may very well be just as bad as those creations. This evil book is not the only way to bring one back to life, of course. It also just happens to be the most powerful, because it is the most evil.

On "Robert's" desk, far away from the foot of the little clown dolls, sits the Lament Configuration, otherwise known as Lemarchand's Box. "Robert" has no intention of trying to solve the intricately designed puzzle box, however, though he knows he could. It would be pointless, however, as he does not seek pleasure through pain, though it seems that by trying to enjoy the pleasures humans do, he receives nothing but pain for his efforts. He isn't even entirely sure as to why he even sought it out from that world, other than maybe to distract himself from his own reality a little while longer... though it had hurt, an awful thing, to travel to that world...

... maybe he has deluded himself to think that he can do some good in the world of which the puzzle box came by destroying it once and for all.

Next to the puzzle for summoning the hell spawns otherwise known as Cenobites is the Heart of Damballa, an amulet with a red jewel in its center capable of transferring living souls into different vessels. Used by a serial killer while he lay in a toy store dying... before it got stupid... "Robert" honestly thinks he feels bad for that six-year-old boy who only wanted a toy for his birthday instead of clothes. It reminds him almost painfully of Georgie, who only wanted a boat from his big brother. "Robert" taps his fingers against the evil book, debating before shaking his head once more.

The Heart of Damballa _could_ work, but he doubts it. He's certain it only works for _human_ souls, and it doesn't matter anyway. He's certain that both individuals have to be _alive_ for them to switch bodies, to transfer a soul into another vessel. That is beside the point, however, as he has no real intention to bring harm to --

He grits his teeth as the back of his head suddenly flares with pain, blood welling to the surface of his skin as it rips open, as though he's just been clawed by something with massive paws and even longer claws. Scarlet blood wells instantly and slides down the back of his neck, wetting and staining his hair and soiling the starched ruff of the clown suit. The Pomeranian's black eyes are looking up at him with empathy, because blood is staining the back of its head and neck, soiling its fur. It even whimpers pitifully, clearly in pain.

The pain is as though claws are burrowing deep into the base of his skull, the back of his head, gouging out the flesh there, tearing it away from the bone, and ripping the skin clean off his head. As though he's being scalped, but by a monster's hand rather than a blade. He does not blame Billy for losing the doll, however.

"Robert" lowers his eyes as he thinks about Billy, and then he thinks about all of the individuals he has spoken with, thinking about the items he has scavenged, either like an archaeologist like Raymond Knowby or a desperate madman who stole an ancient artifact from a tribe, across multiple universes. He doesn't want to think about what a _struggle_ it was to go back and forth, the hunger worsening as the weight in this form's face quickly dwindled, the body becoming bonier and bonier.

Unhealthier.

 _Hungrier_.

Some intersect with one another like a crossroads, sort of like the ones where you make a deal with a demon for something that damns you regardless. "Robert" has his own reasons for summoning Krueger as well, though obviously it doesn't matter since the claws are scratching deeper and deeper, scraping across the bone of this physical form's body like nails on a chalkboard.

Even though "Robert" himself is not asleep.

 _Whatever you do, don't fall asleep_.

Yet he can't help but wonder if he should regret summoning Krueger or not, because he doesn't trust the sadistic bastard. Unease has already settled alongside his hunger in the pit of his empty stomach after seeing Krueger follow Billy and Georgie into the bathroom and guilt pierces him like those persisting claws because he was the one who found that stupid chocolate bar in a Wonkaverse and gave it to Georgie, thinking that a seven-year-old could eat it without making a mess of himself. Or maybe he didn't think about it at all, and this was his punishment for being careless.

He knows not yet what Krueger has done to Billy, Goergie having to see it, and what Krueger is currently doing with the blood or even what he is preparing now, as even "Robert" is currently unable to see where Krueger has gone. He isn't in the view of any of the dolls and he isn't roaming the depths of the sewer system, so the clown can't see him. He knows Krueger hasn't killed anyone, he would know instantly by the reek of death, but still. And he knows it is his own fault that his omnipotence is fading, dying like a light bulb. That is why he cannot see without the dolls, unless the earth they tread is in the underneath. In the sewer.

He just wishes more than anything that Georgie had not left his doll on the bleachers, that he hadn't made a mess of himself with the chocolate bar, and that Billy hadn't left his in the bathroom of the mansion. "Robert" faults neither, however.

He knows that Krueger isn't stupid enough to actually kill any of the children, except maybe Connor Bowers since the brat had shoved him down, though he does halve half a mind to let the dream demon take Zack Denbrough and the Bowers brat, but he knows full well, all too well, that Krueger can do enough damage without killing anyone.

He fails to realize it isn't the kids Krueger is going to attempt to provoke.

He wouldn't have summoned Krueger in the first place if he didn't need help finding a place to keep _her_ until he came up with a better solution than what _she_ wanted. The moment he had seen her dive under those bleachers, lurking like the monsters they were underneath Billy's very feet, and he had realized that Henry had spotted her, he knew he had to find somewhere to keep her.

"Robert" knows he could have requested Nancy Thompson's help, on her side of the dream world where Kristen Parker had dreamed her up, forever and ever, but he doubts she would have helped him. She guards the good side of dreams and has no reason to help a monster like "Robert" even if it was --

He stops that line of thought. Krueger is bored at this point and he can't hurt any of the kids in this world. It would be pointless for him, because they aren't dreaming. And "Robert" wasn't stupid enough to let someone like Krueger roam around without what can literally be described as a child protective lock. The irony haunts him like his phantoms. "Robert" can see the similarities between himself and Krueger, and that is why he knows he can never trust the bastard, because he can't trust himself. He just hopes _she_ doesn't get any ideas while temporarily confined to the dream world.

 _When you die in your dreams, you die for real_.

The last thing he needs is the infamous dream demon working in tandem with a dead --

He stops that line of thought again.

"Robert" grumbles under his breath as he closes the Necronomicon Ex-Mortis, otherwise known as "The Book of the Dead", and he sees the horribly mutilated cover of it, often taking the face of tormented humans, staring up at him. The hopeful gleam in its dead eyes is not at all endearing, nor is the smell of the book. The ink is human blood, the pages and the cover are human skin.

He knows his hunger is getting worse, because even the smell of flesh rot is becoming less repulsive to him.

A grin stretches out across the disfigured face of the book, contorting it nastily.

"Robert" stares at this book and of where he had found it, effectively killing two birds with one stone. He just fears he might have been one of those birds.

This was not the book that the Hero From The Sky had in a cabin deep within the cursed woods of Michigan, nor was this book one of the three from the cemetery dating all the way back to 1300 A.D. prior to the Hero's arrival and the complete butchering of the words to a _simple_ spell. There were many books of the dead, because there was so much evil in so many worlds. No, this book had been in a cabin, at a camp known for its beautiful lake that looks like crystal when the sun hits it just right... and the blood.

This particular book, from one of many worlds of which it existed in, was used once before by a grieving mother, stricken with madness, who had lost her only son when he was just a boy.

The day of her death had been on the anniversary of his birthday, of course. A simple resurrection spell. Her head had been removed from her shoulders by a blade that became a cursed object, a series of more bloodshed soon to follow. This spell was a trick. She thought she would have her son back, a deal with the devil, or _a_ devil, was a mad gambler's loss regardless.

He could not help but wonder if something similar to this would become his fate. He feared it would. His death, for her return.

Bloodshed and carnage by the hand of a grieving mother who refused to let that camp ever open again after what the useless counselors had let happen to her son ("Robert" could not fault her very much, though he personally wouldn't have recommended a resurrection spell from the Necronomicon to bring back her son) and the bloodbaths continued, numerous times, by the very son who had watched his mother die from his watery grave.

Crystal Lake, to Blood.

They had never found the boy's body. That was the deal Pamela Voorhees had made with a demon from this book. A trickster's deal, a gambler's loss. There was no soul for the demonic entity to collect, except for hers, so the body would have to do. The people running the camp, the Christys, they suffered. So the boy's body became the vessel, rising up from his watery grave to avenge his mother's death and to let a bloody vengeance take place.

Hence, ninety percent of the time, why he couldn't actually die or simply stay dead.

Tommy Jarvis was a moron in "Robert's" opinion.

The point was, a grief stricken, maddened mother had struck a deal with a devil. The moral of the story, of that story, an alteration of a dark world, was to never make a deal with the devil. Or any of the devils that dwell within the darkness of every world.

Yet as "Robert" had traveled across a great number of univeres, he had prevented this spell from being performed. He had taken the woman from her native reality before she used the resurrection spell. That world, for the time being at least, would be spared from bloodshed and carnage and at least 160 dead bodies. And that was just Pamela's son's doing.

It was no secret the book loathed him for it, his interference, because every kill by the machete's hand was another soul stolen.

Yet a somewhat bitter, almost morbidly amused smirk crosses "Robert's" lips as he thinks about Leroy Hanlon. He won't get his back broken in this world, after breaking some dumb kid's fingers in a jail cell... though, it was only the face and the soul that was the same. Not the name. In this world, Leroy Hanlon would live, because he knew of the curse that lived in Derry...

He would live...

... probably...

"Robert" didn't know anymore.

His stomach rumbles even more hungrily, pangs quite like getting repeatedly stabbed (a pain he is familiar with, but not exactly at the same time) piercing the void that is his empty stomach. The evil book stares at him even more wickedly, a sly, _knowing_ grin on its disfigured face.

The clown sits at his desk, hunger as ever. No matter how many shows he may perform, how many dances he does, whether it was stolen by Dick Van Dyke or even a long dead circus performer, or how many illusions he may craft, how many individuals from other worlds he may summon and speak with for guidance about resurrections, he knows one thing; he cna't hide from the simple truth.

He's _starving_.

Every hunt and kill this year has been completely unintentional. He had let Georgie slip through his fingers, for more than just one reason. Not wanting to hurt Billy was at the very top of that list, Georgie and Roberta next... Betty Ripsom and Ed Corcoran and Veronica Grogan, those had all been accidental. Cheryl Lamonica and Esther Sinclair were supposed to die Halloween night alongside Grogan, all three still dressed as fairies and princesses and their rotting corpses were to float in the depths of Derry's sewer system, far beneath.

Yet there was no belief.

Dorsey was supposed to die before Ed, beaten to death by his abusive stepfather; his brains, skull, and blood splattered all over the garage. All just because he climbed on a ladder. Ed was dead, either way, but for "Robert" it had been an accident caused by a feeding frenzy after he had killed Richard Macklin.

Betty had been an accident. As had Veronica. Ed had been unintentional, because he had gotten in the middle of it. He had seen a monster attacking his stepfather, and had only tried to help and even though Macklin was already dead, the hunger had not been satiated. Ed's fear had been much more rich and pure than Macklin's, and even though he was afraid he had tried to help...

He had died, terrified when he realized he was going to die.

Quickly, but brutally.

"Robert" had tasted Patrick Hockstetter, twice actually, but he had been so _disgusted_ with what Patrick had tried to do... the thoughts Patrick had about Billy, about _his_ Billy... well, Billy wasn't his... he thought glumly... not really, not in this world, but still... then "Robert" had messed up the kill.

He had been so weakened by his hunger that he hadn't thought things through, blinded by his rage and weakened by his hunger, and took on the form of Ben's doll with monstrous teeth rather than taking on the clown form, which was larger than Patrick, and it had given the brat the chance to escape after punting "Robert" like a football. And then Patrick had attacked Billy before "Robert" could get the fucker and kill him for good... she had thought Patrick was just going to kill Billy... not do _that_...

Patrick was dead, either way, the same as Ed Corcoran. "Robert" knew this was true, because Patrick had heard her voice when she mocked the clown about Billy being his favorite. And the fact that Patrick had thrown that in Billy's face, though the boy didn't understand...

Bile rises in the back of his throat, though he has no food in his belly, burning his tongue, as he remembers Billy's crying. Only, it isn't just the night of Patrick's attack that "Robert" is remembering. His begging for it to stop... Patrick and --

"Robert" feels sick himself, having had to _hear_ every last moment of Billy's crying, having to _see_ it in Patrick's mind's eye, the fucker projecting his thoughts on purpose, knowing that he was provoking the clown... yet he had not eaten Patrick and he knew that Billy knew this, try as the boy may to delude himself into thinking that it was nothing more than a vividly fucked up nightmare. The clown had just used his teeth, as well as his hands, to go in for the kill. To rip Patrick limb from limb for putting his hands on billy... Patrick Hockstetter was nothing more than a rotting corpse dwelling deep within the sewer system of Derry.

He was not food.

He was just dead.

"Robert" knows, too, deep down, that Zack Denbrough cannot be allowed to live much longer in this world. For the very same reason as Patrick. Though, "Robert" guesses that it will be the same as Macklin and Patrick, the same as it will be for Alvin Marsh and even Oscar "Butch" Bowers. Not nearly as satisfying, delicious and filling, meaty tasting, as a child's fear.

Not as rich and as _pure_ , to put it simply.

Human meat tastes the best, by far. Better than most meats because human fear seasons the meat on the bones so richly, a child's fear being far superior to an adult's fear, though the latter had worked for a while as a supplement.

He tosses the book to the side, letting it fall to the floor with a thud as it clatters. He hears the highly pitched, displeased, pissed off chittering sound it makes and he knows that it wants to bite at his foot but it doesn't. It dares not attack him the same as it did Ash Williams.

Numerous times.

And as funny as that was, "Robert" cannot help but gaze miserably about the interior of Robert "Bob" Gray's old trailer, the one he had shared with his daughter, so many years ago. That girl had grown up to be Mrs. Kersh, and out of self-preservation she had taken the knowledge that there was a monster dwelling deep within Derry to the grave. Smart woman. The both of them, Kersh and her father, have since long been corpses rotting away in wooden boxes, time having taken them back to the weeds.

Or, more accuratley, before "Robert" had sent them back to the weeds and had robbed a kindly circus performer of his identity... another name forgotten in time... he, the clown, It, he was Robert now.

Yet a brief flicker of guilt, regret even, pierces him even through the hunger that he knows will become ravenous if he waits much longer to eat something. Or, more accurately, some _one_. He has already refused, multiple times, to kill Esther Sinclair, Cheryl Lamonica, Dorsey Corcoran, and even Georgie Denbrough, having starved himself for all those months until accidentally killing Betty Ripsom, doing away with Richard Macklin and then accidentally killing Ed Corcoran as well. His guilt worsens, pooling and bubbling like boiling water in the pit of his still beating heart and his empty stomach even as the latter rumbles all the more hungrily.

Desperately.

 _Ravenously_.

He didn't blame Beverly for wailing on the Bowers brat, knowing that his refusal to kill Georgie was the only reason Connor Bowers was taking on a bigger role now that Henry had stepped down for it, just as he knew Connor, Belch, and Vic were brewing a plot together to get back at Georgie, for the rock fight, and Billy, for the rock fight and the fight at the circus. He just regrets, so very much, having let Krueger of all people see him at his weakest, and he knows that Georgie, Billy, and Eddie have all noticed his significant weight loss. Or, at the very least, Georgie and Eddie had noticed it and Billy simply noticed that he didn't look entirely as Eddie had described.

An amused snort escapes the clown as he remembers the jiggling of Eddie's knees, the flushing of his cheeks, and the taunts from Richie which had turned to envy after Robert broke up the fight.

He sighs as he stares down at the evil book, which is staring right back up at him with soulless eyes. Two small craters within the cover of it, glaring right at him for having let it clatter to the floor. It fell on its spine, no less. Or, rather, he can see that the eyes of the book are filled with countless souls, the corrupted and the tormented.

The Deadites.

The Kandarian.

The Dark Ones.

He knows that he could use the very same passage that Annie Knowby had used to send the Evil back in time, earning herself a dagger in the back for her efforts and yet still using her last dying breath to save Ash and send him back in time, but he knows it wouldn't do him much good either. He would probably end up stuck, the same as Ash had been, because he knew the book would try and deceive him.

If given the chance, it would screw him over.

He could use the passage for opening a rift in time and space, force the book and its army of darkness into submission, but he also knows that could end very badly. Maturin was dead, now at the very least, and had been dead for quite some time now, before even _she_ died, but Robert knew that if he went too far back in time or not far back enough, Maturin would either get involved or she would already be dead and there would be nothing left for him to change...

... except...

... maybe...

He bites his painted lip as he thinks... he _could_ change...

Flashes of a mirror house flicker through his mind... the book opens itself, revealing that same picture, inked in human blood, of a clown forcing a light into the young boy's mouth in a dirtied mirror house...

Regret...

He kicks it away, the book chattering angrily again as it thuds against the wall of the trailer. The Pomeranian whimpers sadly.

 ** _No_**.

The sinful grin the book gives him tells him that he isn't wrong in thinking that the book would dare and try to deceive him. A petty little thing. He could still use the passage, perhaps even alter the spell and prevent the damn thing from trying to trick him and throw him either too far back in time or not far back enough, and while he knows he could force the book to do his bidding, he is older than it after all, vastly more powerful (or, at the least, he _had been_ ), but what would it cost?

The little clown dolls of Georgie and Roberta stare at him, smiling childishly. They aren't magical, like his own dolls, therefore the two can't see what he's doing, but the hurt still lingers at the mere idea of... he shakes his head. He knows full well that the two of them are not supposed to be here, neither one of their parents knowing that they were interfering with another world, just as he knew full well that Henrietta was on her way to visiting next if for no other reason but to find where her big sisters had gone. That, and to screw with Henry Bowers.

Robert sighs again.

He can't use the passage, because he knows it risks them. All of them. He won't risk it, because just as he knows that, much as she hates Billy, she wouldn't hurt them either. She isn't Mike Hanlon, having the audacity to kill their father, or think he did, and then question whether or not it was safe to leave the unborn, and certainly not Ben Hanscom who stomped at the eggs of the unborn. Killing each and every last one of them.

Robert knows that if he uses the passage for altering time and space, he will be risking and altering the events that have already unfolded in two separate worlds that were parallel to each other, then all of them would be gone. Georgie and Roberta, Henrietta and all the others, they would be like the marks left behind by a pencil, erased.

He just doesn't know how else he's supposed to get rid of _her_... without doing what _she_ wants...

He has sought answers across the endlessly spewed universes, picking and choosing the right times and different worlds to travel to, despite the agonizing pain it causes him, as well as the blood lust and furthering of his hunger, the weakening of his being, as to prevent any more unwanted and unnecessary interference. He has sought multiple spells and magical artifacts and has found _nothing_ , at least, nothing that is useful to him because every single one of them applies to _humans_.

Human flesh is bendable, their blood versatile, and their bones _breakable_...

His lips part as the Pomeranian whines, a rumbling sound sound quite like that of a starving, dying, lion, or maybe a tiger or even a bear, he isn't sure, echoes from the very pit of his belly, a gloved hand coming to rest on the spot as the Pomeranian whimpers. The book stares at him, clearly unimpressed. He knows what the book and its demons are thinking.

 _All that power and he's squandering it away and what the hell for_?

 _ **Morality**_?

That is how Robert is certain that no matter what he does, he is most likely screwed. There is no happy ending for him. Only a really shitty one. He knows that nothing is the correct answer, that there is no alternative. There is no real way to bring her back to life. He just doesn't know how to get rid of her. There are two ways that are mere possibilities, but neither one are exactly appealing.

He won't hurt Billy. Not intentionally, she will, she proved that when she slashed his arm back in the grocery store to provoke and send Robert into a feeding frenzy with the smell of the boy's blood, Billy's blood, because of his unsatisfied hunger and self-induced starvation. Billy, in particular, the smell of his blood... the way the light reflected off of it...

... the _shininess_ of it...

He knows why human meat tastes far better than most, though recently he has taken to scavenging the quarry for turtles. The creatures made in Maturin's image. That was why Billy saw him at the quarry, in the form of a large white spider, rather than seeing a turtle. Billy was wrong when he had thought those things were sweet, or maybe Robert is just bigoted because of the difference between Deadlights and Turtles, though he has no idea what the hell even happened to the _other_ turtle.

After Maturin's death, she disappeared. As though she was never there in the first place.

He bore her no ill will, as she did to Maturin before her death, but he could not help but wonder if that was why the hunger hurt so much. Not even the turtles, the one made after Maturin's image, satisfy the hunger the same way human meat does. He knows it's because of the _Shine_ , and he knows that Billy and Beverly and even Georgie are particularly --

A low growl escapes past his painted lips, orange light flickering behind his quickly sharpening teeth that prod at his lips, threatening to break the skin. His jaw stretches, cracking and contorting, the bones popping, as that orange light illuminates the inside of his mouth, the pink flesh lined with hundreds of little fangs.

Yet, compared to what this orange light was once before, bright and luminous, never ending and full of life, now it appears quite dull. Quite like the eyes of a living thing that is slowly dying, the windows to the soul revealing the fact that the light is leaving their colored depths.

 _He_ is **_dying_**.

The mere thought of it _scares_ him. And he _hates_ it. He **_hates_** that _he_ is **_afraid_** , but he knows he can't hurt Billy. He was already unable to hurt Georgie, and he knows he can't hurt Georgie now just the same as he can't hurt Billy. Not intentionally. He can't hurt them just as he can't kill them. Not intentionally, and that scares him, too. He fears what he could do if he loses control again, having nearly lost it that night after she slashed Billy's arm.

He became a beast that became prey to its own hunger.

A beast driven by a single primitive desire.

Hunt.

Kill.

Eat.

Repeat.

Another low growl escapes him, hungry as the ravenous wolf in search of a meek prey, and the Pomeranian whimpers again as the clown presses a gloved hand to his mouth and closes his eyes, shaking his head as he digs his fingers into his thinned cheeks.

The book, if it had any actual eyeballs, would be rolling them. The darkness within its tainted pages is unable to understand the clown.

Robert then cannot help but wonder if it is quite like going to sleep, depending on how he goes. He knows that so many of his fellows were ripped apart at the seams, as though they were nothing more than mere pieces of fabric holding together an article of clothing before they were destroyed.

Obliterated.

Torn apart, atom by atom, two of which had their still beating hearts torn out of their bodies, their willpower not as great as that of a human being, though they were able to face the battle of wills more than a human before their death.

Once and then again, nearly thirty years later.

A battle of wills.

One he and his fellows seemed destined to always lose...

 _Her_ will, in particular, had not been nearly as great as Billy's, hence her hatred being strongest for him, Ben coming in second...

 _For my will is greater than yours_...

He has his reasons for giving Beverly the key to the "other" world. It was not Robert's choice, however. He knew that the Losers, when banded together, had the power to fight and destroy a Deadlight. There was just one small problem, one lingering question that stuck around like a vengeful spirit; how do you kill something that's already dead?

His eyelids flutter. He's tired. He's tired of constantly fighting with the hunger just as he's tired of seeing Billy with Georgie and knowing how angry she is, seeing how everything had gotten so muddied and confusing so quickly even though it took months to gather everyone for the circus. To construct and craft it, to have everything in it, creatures from other tales of horror and even Krueger, and to find all of the artifacts. It _should_ have only taken him _seconds_. It took him _months_. His belly rumbles again, on the verge of becoming a bellowing roar. The Pomeranian lets out a pitiful wail.

A nap sounds immensely satisfying right now... not the big sleep, though Robert wasn't sure if he was going to have a 27 year sleep cycle, unsure if he was going to live long enough to see it, just a short little nap.

He looks down at the book, his eyes flickering to ominous yellow.

A warning.

"Try anything at all while I'm sleeping and it will be the last thing you ever do," he warns the book, truth and promise in hi swords. "You will _miss_ Ash Williams."

He could snap his fingers like a mad titan and the book would cease to exist in every universe, its atoms reduced to a mere pile of ashes at his feet. Whether or not Robert was weakened by his self-induced starvation. Of course, therein lied a new problem.

Where would all of those dark souls go?

The book rolls its eyes, though it has none, again and blows a raspberry at him. It concedes, however.

He shakes his head once more and lowers his arms onto the desk, folding them over each other and then resting his head on his hands as the Pomeranian leaps off his lap, taking the book into its mouth, ignoring the angry chattering, and walking away with it. The Pomeranian throws it into the garbage bin next to the desk and the book chatters furiously. Robert recognizes the Latin words it spews, and the swears.

His eyelids flutter as the Pomeranian vanishes into thin air. It won't hurt to close his eyes... just for a minute... Pamela will keep Krueger in check...

He _hopes_.

The back of his head throbs with pain again as his thoughts drift along like a lonely boat on a vast ocean back to Billy. The poor kid had passed out in the street, doused in Patrick's blood, his eyelids having fluttered as his thoughts went blank before he collapsed. Crumpling like a heap on the side of the road, right in front of the storm drain as Robert stared at him. He had weighed no more than a rag doll when Robert had crawled out of the sewer in the clown form and picked him up and carried him, in the clown's form, back to his house. His dad had been asleep, drunk as a skunk and none the wiser at the fact that his firstborn son was nearly _raped_ and _killed_ , and Georgie had slept through the entire event.

He was none the wiser either, though Robert knew Mike and Beverly were keeping Billy in their thoughts, worried about him as friends would be. They knew how it felt to be bullied for something that wasn't true, just as they knew how it felt to have nasty rumors spread and be whispered about. Mike also knew how it felt to have nightmares.

Mike would probably never know that Robert was that sheep being tortured in that illusion back at the meat store when Belch nearly ran the poor kid down in the alley.

It had been trivial tasks, really, to fix the broken TV, which had technically been Robert's fault after getting into an argument with _her_ , and to pick up the trash cans and to clean Billy up. It was probably very creepy of him, but he knew it was better than leaving Billy drenched in blood that wasn't his own, leaving the trash cans scattered all over the lawn, and leaving behind a broken TV that Zack would have somehow blamed on Billy and the sick bastard probably wouldn't have cared if he knew the truth about Patrick.

The boy was _exhausted_. The fact made Robert angry. It wasn't Billy's job to take care of Georgie was a _mother_ would, as Sharon Denbrough had failed to do for so long, ditching her only two sons back in October to be with _money_. It wasn't Billy's job to cook and to clean and do menial tasks like grocery shopping for an ungrateful, drunken lump, a pitiful excuse of a father. Yet not once had Billy complained about it, because he loved Georgie too much.

That, and because he was _afraid_.

The boy was afraid of his father. Afraid of the bruises from a grip that was far too tight, that shouldn't be on his body, afraid of the groping hands that still had his thoughts turning into a jumble of confusion, another thing that wasn't supposed to be on his body. The sad thing was, and this made Robert loathe himself, back when he didn't care about anything but his next meal and his next sleep cycle, he knows he would have eventually, if he hunted Billy down to kill and to eat, taken on the form of Zack Denbrough and acted even worse if for nothing else but to have his fill of food, to terrorize Billy and season the meat on his bones before devouring him.

Not that there really was any meat on Billy's bones. The boy was far too skinny.

He would be mad at her for stealing the pizza moment, and snatching Billy's doll and Robert's gift for him, if he wasn't happy that Billy actually had food in his belly. More than just a single peach, the boy not even knowing his dad's eyes were creeping on him while he was peering in the fridge, and occasionally chips or chocolate or the barest minimum of a proper meal.

Robert wasn't the only one who needed to eat. The complex was similar as it was different.

He thinks about Billy's unconscious face in the street, how the boy knew Robert wouldn't hurt him even though whatever creature it was lurking in the storm drain had just brutally murdered Patrick Hockstetter, saving Billy from the lunatic. The boy had looked so peaceful even though he was covered in blood, hair and clothes soiled with it and his skin stained with it. Painted like an artist's canvas, the artist also just happened to be a murderer. And a _monster_. He had weighed so little, and the sleeping figure reminded Robert of memories that were his own and not at the same time.

He longed to hold the boy as he did once before. To hold him close and tell him sweet words. To tell him that he was above the shitty, backwater town that was Derry. It was twisted, Robert knew. He knew he had to be confused, because the beast within him wanted to feast upon flesh and feed upon fear, gorging **_It_** self on humanity, just as the sentient part of him wanted to be kindly to the boy.

Even the other Losers, and Georgie, too, but mostly Billy.

Robert still didn't even know what exactly it was he wanted from the boy.

A _companion_ in the darkness of this world?

A _friend_ in the loneliness of existence?

A **_mate_**?

To use the term 'sick' would describe there was a cure for what Robert was. It was _twisted_. It couldn't be love, it was next to impossible, since he was _dying_ just by trying to save the boy's life and the boy was none the wiser about it.

Robert knew about potential futures, potential outcomes of his reality but he could not see the ending. Would it be a good one? A happily ever after like some sort of fairy tale? That didn't settle his nerves or his fears, because the original fairy tales were written by the Grimm brothers. They were fucking _grim_. Would it be a bad ending? But who's definition would he be using to describe 'bad'? He supposes that means an ending where either he or Billy dies. Or would it be a bittersweet one? He, the literal monster of this woeful tale, dies saving the kids from the bigger threat? Or a really shitty ending? Kind of like the ones in Billy's books from Robert's twin's world.

He flinches as he remembers his twin's cruel words, ones he once spoke himself. In a past life.

**_It was real enough for Georgie!_ **

That past life was not Robert's. Not anymore. Those words were spoken to spite Billy, because in that past life, in that twin's world, Billy had offended him. Offended **_It_**. He had convinced Richie that nothing they were seeing was real, that the clown, the creature, It, wasn't real. It had hurt the clown, Robert and his twin, something awful, stirring an anger deep within the monster's heart that infuriated it, offended it, to no end. And because of Billy's hurtful words, the monsters had turned cruel.

Robert is the only one who has ever regretted it. From that past life, and now.

Such cruelty spoken to a guilt ridden _kid_ for something he hadn't _meant_ to happen. How the hell was Billy supposed to know that day would be the last time he saw his little brother _alive_? He just hadn't wanted to play with him on a rainy day... Georgie shouldn't have gone out at all... Robert knew he was getting soft, but he couldn't help it.

Billy had that effect on him, but the clown couldn't find himself finding it to be a bad thing.

Yet it had still felt all wrong to not grab Georgie's little wrist that day back in October and morph his own face into a monstrous form and bite the limb clean off the boy's body before dragging him into the sewer, leaving nothing behind except that yellow slicker on that pile of broken toys and mutilated bodies. He would have, if only because of the hunger, but then Georgie had thought of Billy, his _big brother_ , and that was the real reason Robert had cried. He didn't want to kill Georgie, Billy's little brother, and hurt Billy.

He knew he had become soft because he no longer wanted to be a shapeless, faceless, nameless _monster_ that the children of Derry feared. The Boogeyman in the darkest corners of the closet and under the bed. A shadow that disappears when the light comes on.

He knew full well that he could gorge himself on the monsters of humanity, murderers and rapists alike, but it just wasn't the same. Few people in each world had the Shine to begin with, adults even less so. Children were purer than that. It was why so many children went missing in Derry. She had gorged herself on their Shine, just as Robert in that past life had, as well as his twin and the other two. He could travel from universe to universe, parallel to parallel, dimension to dimension, but it wouldn't matter. She would follow him, urge him to kill the children, who's Shine is stronger than that of the adults, their will greater than. He couldn't escape.

He just wanted to be left alone now, though Billy's smiling face kept popping into his mind.

This was out of character for him, he knew. He was supposed to be a monster that lurks in the shadows, the ultimate masterpiece of horror itself. A faceless, shapeless, nameless monster. Stephen King's ultimate masterpiece for the idea of true horror, the way that, once the story was over, nobody could say, "At least the monster _wasn't_ \--"

Yet here he was, one of those monsters, acting like a _lovesick fool_. Acting as though his very nature was corrupt in itself, that he was the worst thing the Macroverse had to offer, but somehow there was still good in him just because he has a heart that still beats. He knew he wasn't, good or bad, those were relative terms, but he knew his body count was still high. It was only recently that he stopped hunting.

Intentionally, that is. Unless the abusive adults, such as Richard Macklin and eventually, Zack Denbrough and Alvin Marsh, counted.

It was empathy. Strange, possibly deranged and borderline delusional, but it was empathy nonetheless. Something, rather than nothing. Robert knew how it felt to lose a brother, a younger one at that, and he just didn't want to hurt Billy. Because he knew how much it would hurt the boy and he knew Billy didn't want to let Georgie out of his sight anymore because of that day in October, because Billy knows, deep down, that he very well could have lost Georgie that day. Billy has regretted not going with him ever since, and not just because he was caught in the middle of his dad finding out about his mom's affair.

He has no idea and Robert has no idea if he ever will know.

He knows Billy has been getting flashes of memories that are his own and aren't as well as Robert has. The mirror house... Robert flinches as he remembers it, where Georgie and Roberta... Henrietta and almost all of them were --

He shakes his head again, not wanting to think about it. About the fact that _he_ had _hurt Billy_.

Georgie and Roberta and Henrietta and all of the others, they came from it, good things coming from a bad (shitty) situation, but Billy had been _hurt_. Numerous times. By losing his little brother, by having the fight with the Losers, by being left for dead by them, by Stanley, by being -- Robert grits his teeth, regretful -- and... and then --

Robert just wants to hold the boy as he did once before, but he doesn't want to hurt the boy more than he already has. In that past life and in this one. He just wants to hold him close, as humans do when sharing comfort, share his thoughts with him as he did once before, but he knows it's nothing short of creepy on his part. Age may not matter, Deadlights are ageless, timeless beings, older than time itself, but still quite young in their ways.

Death is irreversible. Unless you're _human_. He _knows_ this. The only reason Krueger kept coming back was because they kept dreaming him up, and he was human before he was a dream demon. Jason Voorhees was created by supernatural means, including getting a Frankenstein sort of awakening by Tommy Jarvis's stupidity. Chucky and even his later bride kept coming back because of a magical amulet. Humans could be corrupted into Cenobites or Deadites.

He knows death is coming. An irreversible thing. Most likely for him.

He knows he should _hate_ Billy, just as he should hate all of the Losers (he's partial to resenting Mike and Ben), but he _can't_. The boy, like his little brother, is something _good_ in this dark world. When he sees Billy, through the eyes of the dolls and even his own, he sees happiness and eyes full of life, full of the Shine, but he feels hunger, too. This Billy is unharmed by the horrors of the other worlds he has existed or still exists in or will one day exist in, yet he is slowly becoming affiliated with the horrors of this one and because of that, Robert _hates_ himself.

He should hate him but then he would be hypocritical. How can he regret the actions of a past life when Billy has no idea what a past life of his own did? And back then, she was wicked and cruel. At that time, a mother protecting her unborn, failing to do so, but still. The existence of this world is Robert's own fault. It is but it isn't. And it wasn't as though Billy was the one who killed the unborn, that was Ben. Robert's own past life haunts him, more so than _she_ does, and while he knows he should take her side, he can't.

He knows he would _die_ to keep that kid alive. Just as he knows he would kill Alvin Marsh in a heartbeat to keep him from putting his hands on his daughter, just as he knows he would rip Zack Denbrough apart, limb from limb, should he try anything more with Billy. Actually, he intends on killing Zack either way, but that was beside the point. The sad part is, Robert is certain that second one is coming as well. He would even kill Butch Bowers if given the opportunity, because he feels nothing but pity for Henry at this point.

Because of Robert being unable to kill Georgie, because of the mistakes of a past life, Billy and the Losers have mere suspicions in the backs of their minds about Derry's grim history. Mostly Ben, since in this world the Losers didn't stop at his house and see his bedroom after going to the quarry. The point is, they don't know about Robert. About the clown. Robert or _her_.

About **_It_**.

But he knows death is coming.

The question is; _who_ is going to die?

Was Robert to be doomed to eternal misery or an inevitable death because of the mistakes of a past life? Was Billy destined to die because of Robert's mistakes? Was Robert going to eventually fade away out of existence? Having snuffed his own light or would she become so impatient she'd wind up killing him in a fit of rage? Beverly's bathroom was evidence enough that she was not above torturing Robert to get what she wanted.

 _When someone dies in a fit of rage, a curse is born_.

She is dead, but she isn't. A ghost, a phantom, a _shadow_ , trying to recreate the life it once had. She plagues Derry as Robert does, though she haunts him rather than the children, though remnants of her are peeking through, breaking free from his hold on her, and Billy is her primary target. This is how Robert knows he has gone soft and has been tainted, corrupted, by the plague that is humanity. Using 'her' and 'she' as pronouns for a description when he knows she used to think of herself as above such mundane terms. He knew she wasn't wrong when she called him a traitor who played favorites...

She was female but not, above such human boundaries when describing gender. She, but not. She, but beyond those humane limitations. Audra Phillips had once described her as a female, because a giant, pregnant female spider was the only thing that came close to what a human mind could comprehend when seeing the Deadlights.

Not a she, not a her.

An It.

 ** _It_**.

A ghost, a presence that still lingers, and it won't leave Robert alone. It plagues him, haunts him, and it is angry. Rightfully so, in a sense, but hypocritical nonetheless. And Robert fears the only way to actually get rid of her is to rid this world of himself. He has the disturbed feeling she's either tethering herself to him, or to Billy.

How do you kill something that's already dead?

 _Your love will kill me_.

But it's one-sided. He might as well not even exist. He may as well be the shadow lingering in the dark corners of the grocery store. He knows he should be taking her side, figuring out the ways to take out this world's set of Losers and rid the Macroverse of them once and for all, but he _can't_.

He can't, and he _won't_. And he knows that fact is making her angrier. He fears what she will do when the opportunity strikes.

And it _will_.

Billy's smiling face while sitting next to Georgie on the bleachers lingers in his thoughts, rewinding and playing like a movie. He knows something bad is coming. He just can't tell what. And he doesn't think it's going to be by her hand either.

A song comes to his thoughts as he thinks about his hunger and about his confusion. His beating heart is slowing down. It is beyond fitting, unfortunately.

He knows he should hate the boy, resent him for making him soft for humanity and therefore weak in comparison. But it isn't Billy's fault. It's his own.

 _You can't spend 54 years with someone and not **love** them_... he thinks sullenly, though he knows those rules don't apply the same in this world... though he still wonders if he's deluding himself into thinking it's something it isn't. The boy barely knows he exists, having only seen him twice. He hasn't even actually _spoken_ to him. He lifts his head back up, seeing his solemn face in the mirror. His eyes are a paler shade than before, a mix of pale charcoal and powdery blue.

A pale coloring.

A deathly shade.

And yet he would still _die_ to protect that boy, to protect him and his brother, from Patrick Hockstetter, Connor Bowers, Belch Huggins, Vic Criss, Zack Denbrough, and even from _her_.

His beating heart is slowing down, and he is certain it will come to a stop soon enough.

The tip of his painted nose starts to tingle as he starts to cry.

" _I sense there's something in the wind,_

_That feels like tragedy's at hand._

_And though I'd like to stand by him,_

_Can't shake this feeling that I have_."

The book rolls its eyes once more from its place in the bin, even as he continues singing, his voice low, soft in tune, and _sad_.

Ravenous, self-induced _hunger_ or twisted, _toxic love_?

" _The worst is just around the bend_ ,

 _And does he notice, my feelings for him_?

 _And will he see, how much he means to me_?"

His heart _aches_. Every beat of the organ _hurts_. His stomach cries out in _agony_.

" _I think it's **not** to be_."

Billy isn't his friend. Billy barely notices him. Georgie considers him his friend, but Robert knows that if they knew the truth... maybe he just wants to delude himself, just a little while longer...

" _What will become of my dear friend_?

 _Where will **my** actions lead us then_?

 _Although I'd like to join the crowd_ ,

 _In their enthusiastic cloud_ ,

 _Try as I may, it doesn't last_."

He lowers his eyes, tears streaming. A whirlwind of emotions is spiraling within his chest, in his very core. Shame, because he is a being far older, far more ancient, than humanity and time itself, and yet here he is moping like a scorned lover. Regret, because it was his actions that led him here. Hope, though he is certain it is delusional. And _fear_.

" _And will we ever end up together_?

 _No, I think **not** , it's **never** to become_,

 _For I am **not** the one_."

He lowers his head back down onto his hands. His mind goes hazy, a fog descending over his thoughts like a veil dropping over his eyes. Ghostly hands seemingly trail down the back of his neck, massaging the wounds there, the clown barely registering the stinging pain, though he knows it is more literal than it is metaphorical. Spiders crawl along his skin, along the surface and even underneath, creeping and crawling, familiar and deadly, through the void that is him... his lips part as sleep comes over him, dropping over him like a veil, tears still streaming down his nose, dripping onto his desk, as his stomach rumbles hungrily, desperately.

Ravenously.

The clown dolls of Georgie and Roberta share a sad look.

He's that tired, that hungry, that weakened, that he incorrectly deduced that the dolls lacked magical abilities like his own. Not only that, but he's having a nap. The only sleep Deadlights need is their 27 year cycle.

His dreams are his own, and then they aren't.

Somewhere, deep within the circus, the blood of Bill Denbrough smearing his mouth and his teeth, Freddy Krueger is laughing. Somewhere, deep within the dark heart of the dream world, another clown is grinning. Somewhere, also deep within the dark heart of the dream world, the nightmare realm, little girls are singing as they jump a rope.

 _One_ , _two_ , _Freddy's_ _coming for you_...

Stink.

Sewer stink.

The foulness of sewage and Derry excretion.

The richness of blood, the tangy, coppery sweet smell of it, alongside the sugary sweet smell of cotton candy. The bitterness of death and the saltiness of peanuts. The stink of sewage and the rank of hot dogs. The reek of rot and the buttery goodness of popcorn.

Dim lights flicker above his head as he stares at his reflection in multiple mirrors. They're cracked and covered in grime, completely filthy and stained with blood. He can see one in particular that looks as though something had slammed through it. His forehead throbs with a familiar pain.

The place reeked of death, ghostly whispers of the dead children and adults of Derry lingering like foul odors. Only, instead of their fear and even their terror lingering, a far sweeter smell, it was a taunting thing now. A smugness that was jeering, a mockery of his current predicament. Multiple mutilated dolls, some with their limbs missing, arms and legs, or their bellies and chests torn open, or even their faces ripped apart, stared up at him with unseeing black button eyes.

They were dim and dull, not at all shiny as they were when Robert had made them...

... before the death of each child who had gotten one...

... before Robert killed them...

The ghosts of his past, little boys and little girls, young men and women, the circus performer who he robbed of his identity, and his daughter, an elderly, haggish looking woman, though she still wore her clothes and resembled more of a corpse than she did a monster, staring at him within the mirrors. He understands the implication. All of them wear buttons for eyes in this world, however. They stare at him, whispering indiscernible words but he knows they are angry at him for killing them just as they are smug that he's the one suffering now.

It isn't just his ghosts, he sees, however.

Mirrored, he sees the many faces of Georgie Denbrough. None of the Georgies have buttons for eyes, however. Many of the dead have buttons for eyes, the ones he killed, and the rest don't, but they are multiplied.

Mirrored.

Dorsey and Ed Corcoran, Esther Sinclair and Cheryl Lamonica and Veronica Grogan, Patrick Hockstetter, three of him, only one with buttons for eyes. Betty Ripsom and Henry Bowers, the latter as an adult, Belch Huggins and Victor Criss, four of each. Not _five_. Bowers and Huggins and Criss, they don't have buttons for eyes. There's the little boy who's head Ben saw in that history book, his charred, headless body he saw in one life. One severed head held up in blackened and burnt fingers has buttons for eyes, and in the other hand, just as crisped, holds a burnt and ruined doll.

Robert lowers his eyes before closing them.

The ghosts disappear from the mirrors, and in each one they are replaced with a single person. The very same person. Or, at the very least, a mirrored version of that person.

Bill Denbrough.

He wears a white shirt with navy blue sleeves along with blue jeans and his sneakers. Bill grins before his clothes change. They shift and they morph into a baggy silky suit of silver and orange pom poms pop out on his chest as a collar ruff ripples around his neck. His face is being painted white, as though an invisible hand is applying clown's makeup to his face, and his mouth is painted red with a clown's smile. On his hands are white gloves and in one is a bunch of balloons. The colors are green, red and yellow, but the shade isn't at all bright.

Like the button eyes from the ghosts, they are dim and rather dull.

Dead.

As are the black buttons that manifest over Bill's pale colored eyes.

The lights turn to dark, dousing the clown in darkness.

They lights flicker on again, and Robert recognizes the three little ghost children that have appeared in thin air, manifesting themselves as phantoms to haunt him, their button eyes just as dull and dim as their _floating_ , translucent forms.

Edward Corcoran, Veronica Grogan, and Betty Ripsom.

Pale and translucent, smoky and gray, almost pale as pearls. They have no eyes as it was Robert who ate their flesh, but not their Shine.

Unlike the ghosts before them, they do not stare at him with judgment or a mocking sort of smugness. They stare at him with a sorrow, a sympathy, that he would dare say is kindly. Yet a cruelness cannot help but bubble within him, a part of himself he cannot escape. Fear as he may the idea of losing Billy, though Billy is not his to lose, not in this world, and fear as he may the idea of dying.

He does not need the _pity_ of the _dead_.

But he still speaks.

"If it comes to that..." he says quietly, his voice soft. Regretful. "... warn him."

A quick, subtle nod of Veronica's head, an understanding smile on Ed's face, as Betty's little hand reaches for him. Robert knows it was her that tried to make contact with Bill as he had explored the mansion, the memories that were his own and not at the same time plaguing him, confusing and disorienting him.

A pale hand stretches out for him, reaching for him, and he cannot help but think that a grudge is chasing after him, one that will not end until he dies, though he knows it is none of these three ghosts who bear him an ill will. They may one day cross that veil to the other side, they are not the ones Robert unintentionally condemned to being nothing more than a shadow flickering in the darkness of a grocery store... a shadow lurking under the bleachers... a shadow taking form on the bus...

 _When someone dies in a fit of rage, a curse is born_...

Robert leans his head and his back against the mirror, crossing his legs as he sits on the dirty, bloodied floor of the mirror house as the light turns into dark once more, dousing him once again. He knows what's coming and doesn't at the same time. He knows this dream is not his own, and he is certain it will become a nightmare. He knows for a fact that this dream isn't of Krueger's design, however. Though he fails to realize it isn't a dream of his own creation.

This dream is of _her_ making.

He has even less time than he thought, he knows. He only has until the end of this summer, before he dies or goes back to sleep. Unless those mean the same thing.

The lights come on again, and Bill Denbrough is sitting in front of him, on his knees. He's smiling that sweet smile at him as his hands, so much smaller than Robert's, reach for his and take hold of them. They're warm, as the flesh of living creatures tends to be. Robert has never known such warmth, having always been so cold. He wears the same shirt he wore once before, in that past life, and the same jeans and sneakers. Robert recalls that only Billy's sneakers survived that past life.

Billy's smile stretches as he climbs onto his lap, wrapping his arms around Robert's neck and pulling the clown close. Bill's nose brushes over his, their lips inches apart, as he cards his fingers through Robert's hair, fingertips brushing over the still bleeding wounds almost apologetically.

 ** _Almost_**.

Billy wraps one arm around his neck, fingers holding onto the hair on the back of his head, as the other hand runs down the side of the clown's neck, fingertips brushing over his jawline. The soft lips against his own are sweet and gentle, almost shy and nearly chaste. He can't help but wrap his long arms around Billy's waist, pulling the boy close so that their chests are pressed together.

One gloved hand runs up Billy's back, carding his fingers through the hair at the base of the boy's skull. The other stays around his waist, almost as though he's hugging him. The kisses are soft and sweet, almost sugary and fluffy, and Robert is the first to break it to press the side of his face against Billy's cheek as he hugs the boy, holding him as a lover.

He blinks as he feels Billy's lips against his neck, teeth scraping across the flesh. They aren't at all flat like a human's teeth, and Billy's lips are no longer soft and warm. They're cold and rough. He looks into the mirror behind the boy, regretting it instantly.

The boy's jeans are gone, replaced with a pair of fine silky pants, silver in color, with orange lining. His shirt morphs as well until he's wearing a full silver clown suit with a collar ruff. Robert can feel the pom poms popping out of the chest of the suit, because they're pressing against his chest, just above his heart. He knows they're orange.

Claws drag gently up the back of his neck, over the claw marks on his head. His own hand grips Billy -- not really Billy -- by the hair and yanks his head back, the boy grinning at him in a wicked way that doesn't match at all.

His face is painted like a clown's, the face white as freshly fallen snow. His entire mouth is painted in a red clown's smile as white gloved hands, though claws, black as ebony, poke out of the fingertips. Billy's teeth are long and sharp, each one like jagged needles, broken and hazardously put back together before being shoved into the boy's protruding gums. A dim orange light flickers behind those grinning teeth.

A _dead_ light.

Shadows flicker around them, distorting the scene even further. Limp chitinous limbs, some bent and broken, like that of a dead spider, protrude out of Billy's back, sliding up and down the clown's sides, tickling him though he _knows_ they are for stabbing and maiming.

Killing.

The eyes are what disturb the clown the most, because they're the black buttons instead of the pale blue ones he has become so familiar with seeing on Billy's face. They aren't at all shiny, they are dull and dim.

 _Dead_.

"Kiss me, clown boy!"

Bill forces his mouth onto the clown's, forcing his tongue into his mouth. Robert's hands fly to his shoulders to shove him away, but those chitinous limbs shoot forward, the bones cracking and splintering inside of the appendages, breaking out of the mutilated skin as black blood oozes and gushes out of the wounds, and Robert cries out in pain when he feels the sharp ends of them pierce through his hands, piercing the palms and popping out the backs, narrowly missing the bones, ripping and tearing through his skin like paper, and he can smell his own blood, not at all coppery like human blood, as the spidery limbs force his hands against the mirror behind him. The sharp, jagged ends protruding out of the backs of Robert's hands pierce the glass as well, pinning the clown, crackling sounds echoing behind him as the glass starts to break.

The cracks take on the form of a distorted spider's web, no less...

A long slimy tongue forces its way into his mouth, licking along the inside of his mouth and sliding across his teeth and dancing with his own tongue, coaxing it to _play_. His eyes flash yellow and then red as his teeth sharpen. He bites the tongue, the illusion on top of him instantly squealing with pain, an inhuman, unearthly sound, and it screams lividly as he bites the tongue clean off. It reels back, blood spraying out of its mouth as it splutters and gags, the rest of the tongue wriggling around furiously in Robert's mouth like a serpent. Robert spits it out, watching as the pink appendage splats to the ground in a bloodied heap as it flops around like a fish out of water before falling limp and turning to dust.

Ashes.

The sharp ends of the broken spider legs twist inside of his palms, his hands flaring with pain, his wrists and his arms splintering with a white-hot agony and numbness at the same time, and he yet does not scream. He only grits his teeth, screwing his eyes shut. It feels as though a poker just removed from a fire has been stabbed into his hands. She's getting more and more creative with her methods, he knows grimly.

Garbled words screech out of a blood filled mouth. The voice is not Billy's. It is indiscernible. Neither male nor female.

But Robert knows it's _her_.

 ** _It_**.

" ** _That fucking hurt_**!"

He does cry out then, his eyes shooting open, his mouth falling open, and becoming a wounded blue when he feels two more chitinous limbs piercing his sides, the stabbing pain familiar but different and it _hurts_. White-hot, scalding, _agonizing_. His sides flare up with pain and the limbs _twist_ inside of his wounds. They burrow deep into his form, scratching along his ribs as the wounds gush blood, soiling the white of his doublet and even his pantaloons, the liquid redness dripping onto the dirty floor of the mirror house with sickening splats.

He closes his eyes again, having caught a glimpse of Bill's disfigured face. It reminds him of Mrs. Kersh, from one world. Deep bags are under the illusion's eyes despite having buttons for them instead of actual eyeballs. The skin is loose and wrinkled, scabbed over and rotted.

 _Dead_.

He knows that if she had actual eyes, they too would be scabbed over. Rotted. The eyes are always the first of any dead creature to rot away, he knows with a disturbed feeling. A morbid knowledge.

He never wants to see _Billy's_ face as a corpse again.

 _Never_.

He hears her spit the blood out of her mouth. Another sickening splat that has him flinching.

" ** _Too bad_** ," she hisses at him. " ** _And if it isn't me that gets that brat, it'll be your pal Krueger_**."

He keeps his eyes close even as anger boils inside of him, coursing through his veins like a poison and blazing like an otherworldly fire.

"You're lying," he says through gritted teeth.

Monster's teeth.

Sharp and predatory. His maw is lined with fangs.

" ** _Am I_**?" she growls, a challenge in her guttural voice. " ** _Is that really a risk you want to take_**?"

His teeth grind together, scraping across like nails to a chalkboard. It _isn't_ a risk he wants to take. He doesn't trust Krueger any farther than the bastard could throw _him_ in the conscious world.

" ** _How much longer are you going to keep up the pretenses_**?" she whispers quietly to him, a cold nose brushing over his cheek. He flinches away, she growls. The sound dissipates as a cold hand touches his face, the silk of the gloves soft to the touch and her touch is gentle, almost apologetic.

 _ **Almost**_.

" _Starving_ yourself," Billy's voice murmurs, almost softly, tenderly, "and for _what_? Does it feel _good_ to be so _hungry_? To be so _scared_ that you'll lose control?"

Robert flinches away even as the chitinous limbs retract from his sides and his palms, though he grits his teeth, barely resisting the urge to cry out in pain, when he feels them sliding out from between the bones and out of the flesh of this form. Gloved fingers run along the side of his temple, gently, almost lovingly, but he knows there is no love about this, because blood is sliding down his skin, soiling the sides of his clown suit and his gloves. He lets his arms fall to his sides, too weak to hold them up any longer.

"Does it?" Billy's voice whispers, cold lips pressing against the side of Robert's nose.

 _No_...

"I thought not," Billy's voice says softly. Though, his voice returns to that indiscernible one again, bordering a monstrous octave. " ** _What is it you want out of the brat, anyway_**?" the voice growls. " ** _A little fuck toy_**?" he can tell Billy's rotted face (the smell quite pungent and nauseating) is sneering at him. " ** _A warm pile of squirming flesh to pound over and over until he's a mewling, quivering mess of himself_**?"

Robert's brows knit together as he tries not to remember. Small hands slide along his shoulders, claws digging into the tender spots and tearing through the fabric of his suit, pressing against his skin and threatening to break it. Threatening to make him bleed.

 _Again_.

 _More_.

" ** _Is that all you want out of him then_**? **_Not for eating_** , **_is he_**? _**For loving**_?"

He whimpers as he feels a slippery tongue sliding across his neck, sliding up and down before twirling the lobe of his ear. It disappears, only to be replaced with those cold lips. The next words she speaks dig deeper than her claws or even her teeth ever could, piercing the void that is his already bleeding heart.

" ** _Do you think that boy will ever love you_**?"

Silence.

His heart beats slowly, that of a dying creature.

Her next words are laced with her smugness and sadistic pleasure, though he knows a part of her, even now, deep down, is regretful that she has to hurt him this way. Well, she doesn't _have_ to, she just does, because after everything she's gone through, after what she had to lose, having to hear all of their voices crying out before they were suddenly silenced... she's impatient... she's angry... she's regretful, for a multitude of reasons. Though, he can tell she isn't impressed by the warm tears that are sliding down his painted cheeks.

" _ **I thought so**_."

She stares at him. She lays her head on his shoulder, a hand on his cheek. He knows she still retains a disfigured variant of Billy's face, and he knows it's not because she _wants_ to... He has no power in the dream world unless it is a dream of his making, but he is weaker than ever. She is vengeful as ever, and that is what keeps her going.

"You won't do it, will you?" Billy's voice murmurs in his ear, cold lips brushing the shell. "You won't kill him, just as you can't bring me back. You'll try and save them, won't you?"

Robert bites his lips, knowing the answer. She scoffs with Billy's voice. She whispers a single word, a woman's name, and Robert understands, especially as his belly rumbles again;

"Sharon."

Yet he jumps when he feels her put something into each of his hands, a pitiful, pained whimper escaping him as the bleeding holes in his hands pulse and throb, gushing blood. He sees, through the eyes of Billy's doll, that Bill Denbrough, is sitting on his lap, his face pale and rotted over, not even painted anymore, with buttons for eyes and in the wrong clown suit. Not even the brightly colored one Roberta liked to wear, but the favored form _she_ always liked. His lips twitch as he cries, feeling the torn and tattered pages of the little red book with gold lettering in his other hand, Billy's gift. He knows she ripped it apart, scratching and clawing at it, but --

He opens his eyes, which are watery and stingy, welled with tears, and sees four slash marks running along the front of it, tearing through the gold letters. She is staring at him, that rotting face a disturbing thing of nightmares, and she nods.

"He didn't..." Robert murmurs, low and quiet as that anger returns.

He's angry at everything at this point.

His self-loathing is the strongest, however, though an otherworldly fire blazes deep under his skin, burning his core, as he thinks about Krueger's grinning face, knowing full well she had no reason to lie to him other than to provoke him, but as his thoughts trace hers, he knows she isn't. And he knows that Krueger is the one who took the book and the doll from the bathroom, _not her_.

She chuckles, low and grim. Bitterly, as she shows him what _else_ Krueger did. His eyes widen, a storm cloud brewing deep within his core as he sees blood -- Billy's blood -- going down the drain of a bathroom sink... three slashes from blades, definitely too clean to be claw marks, running along his wrist...

"You can't keep me here forever. I'll get out, with or without the dream demon," she says quietly. She scowls, Billy's face contorting nastily, angrily. "So you better enjoy what time you've got left. Even if we go together, you die and I fade, I don't have to kill him to hurt him. Same as that idiot Krueger."

He can't tell if its a lie or not, but he knows he's going to find out and Krueger is going to **_pay_**.

" ** _WAKE UP_**!" Billy's voice suddenly screams in his face, the boy's rotted face inches from his own. The clown jumps, startled. She stares at him, her button eyes enlarged and her eyebrows curved. She's glaring, but she's hopeful for a lapse in control. She knows what Krueger is planning, unlike Robert. "You're _bleeding_."

And he does awake. His wounds, Billy's doll, and the ruined book all returning to the conscious world with him. Along with his _**rage**_.

A jerk of his body and the slamming of his fists against his desk as his eyes shoot open, a lethal yellow. They will bleed into a deadly red, a scarlet and ruby coloring, when he realizes Krueger put his hands, or claws, on Billy...

 _His_ Billy.

His jaw crackles and contorts as he opens his mouth, his maw lines with fangs... an otherworldly, unearthly, inhuman, _monstrous_ roar escapes him, rattling the entire trailer and scaring even the evil dead in the trash bin.

" ** _KRUEGER_**!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Good? Bad? Let me know in the comments!  
> \- I have a big scene planned for Freddy and Robert. It's from an anime ;)  
> \- Chapter sixteen is on the way!  
> \- Getting closer to the Billwise!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Chapter sixteen!  
> \- The scene for Robert and Freddy in this is taken from Beastars. I've got a few more ideas planned ;)  
> \- "Look into the eyes of a champion" comes from Rob Zombie's "31"  
> \- Freddy's moment on the stage came from The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Disney's version, though altered a little and I have more plans ahead.  
> \- More stuff from Freddy's Dead and I kind of got sad at one line I wrote. Also, I'm trying to think of a way to incorporate another Wes Craven film, which shall be unnamed at this time into this. Any guessers?  
> \- More references, such as the American version of The Grudge and surprisingly, Rise of the Guardians. There is a line in here that references that other Tim Burton film ;)  
> \- Sorry if this chapter's kinda short. Also, heads up for Freddy's commentary  
> \- Also, are there any other tags I might be missing? Ah, well, let me know how it was in the comments below!

The sweet aroma of shock permeates the air, followed by the stink of fear that reminds Robert of a nice, warm meal. And although his mouth salivates, for once in his long life, Robert is _not_ hungry. He storms through the crowds of kids, the groups of them, each one having been chattering excitedly after the show had come to its end and he had sat in his tent, seeking the resurrection spells from the Necronomicon, and that excited chattering had been silenced by the sight of the clown, of _Mr. Gray_ , splattered in _blood_ that was clearly his own.

He doesn't miss the horrified look on Eddie Kaspbrak's face.

He storms through the sea of kids, parting them, and although he is taller than every single one of them, he still feels as though they're in his way, blocking his vision and obscuring his target. He inhales sharply, though he needs no air, and bellows;

"GET OUT OF THE WAY!"

Kids squeal in shock, frightened and then upset, before running away. Esther Sinclair and Cheryl Lamonica are two that cry the loudest. In his own upset, in his own rage induced frenzy, he cannot find himself enjoying the sweetly tangy scent of their fear. He fails to realize the sight he makes, almost that of a madman dressed in a clown, high on adrenaline, perhaps, and in dire need of a hospital (he can sense Eddie's thoughts, as they are screaming the loudest, the boy's queasiness of the sight of blood not even amusing at the moment), and he cannot even find himself being pleased at the fact that each child is acknowledging the fact that he is real.

That some semblance of _him_ is real. Or, at the very least, they're acknowledging that the blood, his injuries, those are _real_.

The holes in his hands, the gaping, gushing wounds in his sides, the blood staining the sides of his doublet and soiling his gloves, wetting the thighs of his pantaloons as the suit clings onto this form's skin, the giant claw marks on the back of his head, blood soiling his hair and his ruffle, staining the white of it, the coldness of his own blood nothing short of nauseating. He knows that they are mostly scared, because they cannot understand if it is a prank or not. One of his own doing, or if he fell victim to a prank, or if he's actually injured.

He storms to the bus, seeing the disappointed faces on many of the kids, those who have their backs turned towards him, and the apologetic looking Oompa Loompa freezes in shock and even terror at the sight of the clown. What infuriates the clown to no end, making his blood bubble in his veins and then boil, is the fact that there is a large CLOSED sign right next to the one that reads, "Freddy's Party Bus!" and his eyes flash ominous yellow, only the Oompa Loompas noticing, and he yells, startling every child that hears him;

" ** _WHERE IS HE_**!?"

Kids jump and a few shriek in shock, some even pointing. The Oompa Loompas stare at him, equally shocked and terrified, each and every one of them, before they all, with a trembling notion that stretches from the tips of their index fingers all the way up to their shoulders, point in the direction of the auditorium. The clown storms that way, nearly knocking over the children as he does, actually shoving Connor Bowers out of his way and into Belch Huggins, and he can hear meek little voices murmuring;

"Is this some kind of a prank?

"I hope so."

"Who's he pranking?"

"Maybe he's the one who got pranked?"

He almost feels bad because of the _hopefulness_ in their voices that it's nothing but a prank gone wrong. He can hear Eddie murmuring especially loudly, talking about health violations and blood related diseases, AIDS at the top of the list, just as he can hear Connor speaking the loudest, the blonde boy's words making the clown snarl violently, though none of them notice;

"That's so fucking fake."

And the clown slams the doors to the auditorium open with his shoulder, barreling into the double doors, the metal creaking --

\-- bending --

\-- groaning --

\-- denting --

\-- **_breaking_ **\--

\-- from under the force of his strike. It startles Dorsey, Cheryl, and Esther especially, as well as the Bowers cousins, though there is a defiance to Connor, a delusional thought that it was still an act to some well thought out prank. The clown doesn't have to hold back a hungry growl at the stink of fear that lingers so sweetly in the air, now knowing full well that it was surely Krueger's intention all along; to provoke the clown into a frenzy just as killing Richard Macklin had done.

His thoughts are a jumbled, incoherent mess. He is confused as he is angry, the beast inside of him wanting to rip Krueger limb from limb, tear his throat from his neck and watch as the blood gushes from the wound, leaving the monster's body as his heart stops beating, as the creature inside of him wants to _defend_ his --

\-- _mate_ \--

\-- no, _not_ mate, not in this world --

Loss and longing linger in the depths of his heart as he storms into the auditorium, barely registering the slamming of the doors behind him, both of them bent at awkward angles and one about to fall from its hinges. The dent is not even shaped like a human being, instead shaped like an indescribable, shapeless creature.

A _monstrous_ thing.

He is hidden from the prying eyes of the curious and terrified children as well as the unimpressed ones of Connor Bowers, Vic Criss, and Belch Huggins. A broken chain clatters to the floor just underneath the handles of the auditorium's double doors, the padlock having been ripped apart as though it was paper or some soft material instead of _metal_. Shattered metal fragments litter the dark floor, mirroring the devastating hunger, the ravenous rage, and the broken heart the clown is feeling.

In the auditorium, he can see Pamela Voorhees, wearing that very same gray sweater and jeans, her blonde hair cut quite short on her head, barely even passing her ears, as well as two dolls who barely reach her knees in height. She turns, her eyes turning soft, almost motherly, at the sight of the clown, gratitude clear as day, until they widen, horrified.

One doll is a Good Guy Doll, his face clearly having been shredded and put back together by stitches and staples. The flesh on his face is lifted in multiple spots, red and jagged scars lining his face, the red being that of scabby and dried blood, from the reanimation of dead flesh, decorating most of his heavily scarred face. It appears to be actual flesh instead of the plastic, which Robert knows it is, and the doll's overalls are cut in a few places, on his chest and his sleeve, his face held together by nothing more than torn flesh, scars and stitches, and staples and on the back of his right hand is a long cut, also stitched back together. Bits of ginger hair are stapled into his head, which turns at the sound of Robert's entrance, the doll's blue eyes widening with something akin to friendliness and welcome, before turning to pure shock.

The other doll is a Bridal Doll, the hair dyed blonde, the dark roots needing a touch up, the lips and fingernails painted black, wearing a leather jacket and boots that compliment the white wedding dress nicely. Around her neck is a gold necklace, elegantly written, that says, "Tiff" and on her chest, just under where a collarbone would be and just above her breast, is a tattoo of a red heart with the name Chucky in black letters just above it. She turns too, her green eyes widening as her lips part with surprise. A plastic hand hovers over her chest, just above her heart as she stares, just as shocked and even horrified.

"What the hell happened to you?" the Good Guy Doll asks, the voice of Charles Lee Ray coming out of its mouth.

The clown pants heavily, his eyes widening as he spots Krueger standing in the middle of the stage, realizing that Pamela, Chucky, and Tiffany were all off to the side, out of the view of the audience, though there isn't one, and he grits his teeth, baring them like a dog about to bite and Tiffany gasps as he runs towards the stage, nearly kicking Chucky out of the way as he does.

"Watch it, asshole!" Chucky snaps.

The stage lights are bright and yellow, illuminating the auditorium and yet still casting darkness. Krueger, he sees, is still wearing the uniform of the ticket seller from his sixth film, that small part of it, as well as the bladed glove, and revulsion and rage and hunger pool together in the pit of Robert's stomach at the sight of _blood_ drenching the blades, though he _smells_ it before he sees it. The _sweetness_ of it... the _shininess_ of it... _the Shine_... he knows that scent, all too well, he thinks grimly as he gets flashes of his own memories...

... Billy's arm being slashed open by her... his poor side being cut open by Robert...

... guilt joins in with the hunger and the rage, though it dwindles greatly when he sees the grin on Krueger's face, though it isn't the face of Robert Englund he sees. Though, he does see that Krueger is wearing his fedora again, the putrid smell of smoke lingering like her dark presence, ironically now in Robert's dreams that she molds into nightmares, but then the clown sees that, for whatever reason, surely one only Krueger could understand, in his gloved hand, he is holding a mask that reeks of rubber but Robert recognizes it immediately.

The brown and red and even pink and grayish coloring of it, the burn mark patterns lining it, giving it the appearance of severe burn marks, or even pepperoni flatbread, make him realize that it's a Freddy Krueger mask. The kind of mask kids or even adults would wear on Halloween night to go trick-or-treating, take their kids out trick-or-treating, or use it to scare the shit out of each other...

... the _fuck_ was Freddy Krueger doing with a cheap mask of his own face?

Yet despite that question piercing his thoughts, confusing him deeply, his anger returns, tenfold, when he spots a vial in Krueger's other hand... he smells the liquid sloshing around in it just as he sees it... red and thick... sweet and shiny... so familiar... and then he sees the red staining Krueger's teeth, instantly understanding that Krueger had drank the blood... or at least had purposefully stained his teeth with it...

His heart beats... the sound starting off slow, the sound of his dying heartbeat, before it quickens. His eyes widen as his lips part before his jaw falls slack, his mouth falling open as it begins to salivate... his pupils contract and become mere pinpricks in his irises, which blow out completely... he hears his own heartbeat thudding madly in his ears, the sound of blood rushing in them drowning out Tiffany's worried voice;

"Are you alright, sweet face?"

Everything is _numb_. His stomach rumbles before bellowing and then _roaring_ , feeling like a ship on the ocean, tidal waves crashing all around, trying to drown him, as his heart beats erratically, sporadically, and feels ready to burst from his chest, pop out from between his ribs. Drool drips from his painted lips, a single drop falling to the floor. It crashes, sounding like a gunshot in his ears or even the sound of an earthquake splitting the earth...

It isn't just the blood that is something red in the clown's vision...

He sees _red_...

 _He **is** red_.

He runs onto the stage, his own blood squelching in his boots, barely even understanding that there is no one in the audience's seats, that the entire auditorium was empty save for himself, Freddy Krueger, Pamela Voorhees, Chucky, and Tiffany. He barely even hears Krueger speaking, as though he's an actor in a play and is reciting his lines for the big show... though Robert is certain he's just being a dick... especially since, considering his words, he may very well be practicing for a _musical_ , but it upsets the clown to hear the altered lyrics, angering him because he knows Krueger has seen his dreams and he, Freddy, _laughs_ ;

" _So, here is a riddle to guess if you can_ ,

 _Sing the woes of Romeo and Juliet_!

 _What makes a **monster** and what makes a **man**_?"

He holds up the mask in one hand and runs the other over his own face, a knowing grin on his face as his eyes gleam.

"Talk about a really fucked up version of _Romeo and Juliet_! Let's ignore the fact that Olivia Hussey was in one of those! But let me ask you this; does this woeful tale also end in death? It's not even like the literal monsters in this story are the worst of them!"

Freddy's eyes widen even further, the steely blueness of them glinting under the auditorium lights, as the clown approaches. His grin is predatory, his teeth jagged and yellowing, his teeth bared like a vicious dog's, and stained with _blood_ \-- _Billy's_ blood -- the clown's chest rumbles with a violent, protective anger as his stomach bellows with a violent, desperate hunger.

"There's that clown-faced Romeo!" Freddy bellows, the sound echoing across the stage.

Robert runs, his fingers curling into a fist as an angered pant escapes past his lips. He doesn't heed his own advice, the bit he gave to Beverly, and instead reels his arm back as he runs. His fist, his knuckles, slam into the side of Freddy's face, knuckles digging into jaw, the sound of bones cracking and then breaking sadistically satisfying to the clown as Freddy goes flying. Startled, frightened gasps echo behind the clown, but he ignores them.

He knows Pamela has both arms in front of her chest, pressed together, a frightened look in her eyes as she claps her hands to her mouth, Tiffany's hand is still over her heart, her green eyes impossibly wide, and Chucky is standing next to his bride, his stapled face stretched out as his mouth falls open, an equally shocked buy dare say _impressed_ look in his blue eyes.

Freddy thuds to the floor, the vial and the rubber mask flying from his hands across the stage, the vial clattering to the other side and rolling away, the mask falling to the ground next to Krueger's head. Billy's doll and the little red book are still in Robert's hands, the former clenched in Robert's fist, the one he used to strike Freddy. He finds it to be an almost poetic justice.

There are no damages to the doll, only the back of Robert's head. A bit of work on the dream world's part. Although he knows this entire world's existence is his own damn fault, he feels petty, as though he can reassign the blame to Freddy... even just for a moment... after all... _Freddy_ was the one who let her roam as freely as she did... who _gave_ her the doll and the book... all to provoke the clown... to provoke Robert...

... to provoke **_It_**...

Robert breathes heavily as Freddy stumbles, trying to stand, the lights on the ceiling casting shadows over the both of them. The infamous child murderer, the well known dream demon of Springwood, stumbles and nearly topples over as he stands. Robert is satisfied, deep down, to see that his jaw is bent at an awkward angle. He growls lowly when he sees Freddy put a hand on the broken bone, fingers splaying over his chin and his jaw, tapping it almost leisurely, before snapping it back into place, barely even _flinching_. He watches as Freddy gurgles before hacking and then spitting blood onto the stage, grinning broadly all the while.

"Thank you, _clown boy_ \--" the words pierce something deep within him, the clown, his eyes hardening as his pupils shrink into thin, catlike slits. The eyes of predator about to strike, "-- can I have another?"

Their eyes never break contact.

 _Look into the eyes of a champion_.

Freddy's grin stretches, though Robert knows it has to _hurt_ because the jaw and cheekbones crackle and _pop_. Robert trembles, his eyes widening with fury, as a pink tongue darts out from between bloodied teeth, before _licking_ the red of it. His own blood as well as _Billy's_.

"Cannibalism was never my thing, but damn if it isn't --" a low and gravelly chuckle, the voice of Robert Englund, rumbles out of the fucker's chest, passing his bloodied lips, "-- _orgasmic_."

Robert twitches, his brows knitting together. Yet Freddy continues, perfectly aware of what his words were invoking from deep within the clown.

"No wonder you like the kid so much, he's one tasty brat, isn't he?" The grin on Freddy's face becomes _nasty_ , reminding Robert painfully of Connor Bowers. And his heartbeat quickens at Freddy's next words, "How sweet, _virgin's_ meat," he says, licking his blood stained teeth again as Robert fidgets, clearly uncomfortable. "If you don't go after him, _I_ just might..." he holds up a bladed finger, his eyes glinting and as he waggles his finger and the blade attached tauntingly, it reminds Robert agonizingly of _himself_ , especially with how Freddy emphasizes the word 'or', " _Or_ maybe his _daddy_ will. Don't think I don't know about _Patrick_."

As though in slow motion, Robert's fingers release their grip on Billy's doll and the book. The pages flap, like the slowly beating wings of a bird taking flight for the first time before promptly falling back to the earth, as Billy's doll falls with it. The book thuds against the ground, clattering and the pages crinkle and rumble. The thudding of the book's spine against the wooden floor of the stage sounds like thunder bellowing in the clown's ears. Robert bends his back, his arms stretched out on either side of him, his spine and back curving as he bends his legs, before letting his mouth fall open.

His cheeks stretch as his jaw contorts and expands, his own bones cracking from the strain, as his teeth sharpen and multiply. His eyes roll into the back of his head, showing nothing but the whites of them even as they shrink to make room for his enlarging mouth, as claws, black as obsidian, tear through the fabric of his gloves and his fingers elongate... hundreds of pearly white teeth form in the pink flesh of his mouth, lining the insides of his cheeks, each one as lethal as the tip of a needle or claw, each one the size of a needle's point, each one yearning for _blood_. His chest rumbles, a sound mixed of that of bellowing thunder and roaring animals, perhaps that of lions and tigers and bears, bubbling like water as the monster that lurks within the depths rises to the surface...

A truly vicious, _inhuman_ , _unearthly_ , _otherworldly_ roar all but _explodes_ out of the creature. Out of, not Robert "Bob" Gray, not Pennywise the Dancing Clown, but **_It_**.

The entire auditorium trembles like a dying leaf falling from a dead tree. The wooden stage beneath his feet crackles and splinters where he stands, claws, black as obsidian, tearing through his boots and scratching along the mahogany of the stage, leaving behind deep gouges almost identical to the wounds on his head and even his kitchen table. The stage lights shiver and shake, both dolls clinging onto Pamela's legs for support. Robert cannot focus on that... he cannot focus on anything...

A momentary loss of control...

Robert throws himself at Freddy, lunging, wrapping his arms around the dream demon wearing a man's mask and sending the both of them flying into the air, farther away from Pamela and Chucky and Tiffany. Farther away from the auditorium doors and the kids. Farther away from...

... Billy...

They fall to the floor, Freddy landing on his back with a definite "oof" that knocks the wind out of him, as Robert looms over him.

He stares down at Freddy as his pupils contract, becoming smaller and smaller, the lethal red of the clown's eyes glowing in the mixture of darkness and light, the stage illuminated as well as casting shadows, as his form returns to the clown, losing the monstrous claws and teeth and the shape of his face, only his eyes giving him away. He _looks_ human, but his eyes are that of a _monster_. He glares down at Freddy, the dream demon looking right back up at him with that smugness that makes his insides churn.

 _Look into the eyes of a champion_.

The clown lifts his arm up, his fingers curling as his hand makes a fist. He bellows, nearly screaming;

"I will never forgive you!"

However, what the clown fails to realize in that rage induced spell, that hunger fueled moment, is that it isn't just Freddy Krueger, nor the phantom that haunts his dreams, that he is speaking to.

He grunts as he slams his fist into Freddy's face, punching the dream demon as though they're both _men_ instead of _monsters_. Only one of them had been an actual man, born in bone, blood, and flesh, before _becoming_ a monster. He hears more bones crackling, threatening to break even further, knowing and even seeing in his mind's eye the jagged lines, like lightning, running across Freddy's cheekbones and even his jaw, and yet not once does the madman stop grinning. Pamela looks down at Chucky and Tiffany, her eyes wide and fearful.

"We should stop them!"

"Why?" Chucky asks, looking up at her, his blue eyes wide with wicked mirth. "The fun's just getting started! Er -- no, wait," he lowers his eyes, thoughtful, before grinning. "Fun's just beginning!"

"Are you able to?" Tiffany asks Pamela, her green eyes wide with genuine fear as the clown strikes the dream demon twice more, alternating between his right and his left.

The second hit, Freddy's jaw snaps back out of place as Robert tears the fedora from his head, seeing, not the face of Robert Englund, but that of the ticket seller from the sixth installment, staring back up at him. The clown's claws returned, against his will, ripping the fedora from Freddy's head. Blood sprays across the stage from where he tore into Freddy's flesh and ripped the skin from his person. The clown is disturbingly satisfied to see the white of a skull underneath, though it reminds him of Tina Gray pulling Freddy's flesh from his face in her nightmare...

Pamela stares, horrified, as she has never dealt with gore such as this, and creatures of Robert's being, only the slyness of a demon's bargain, Tiffany clapping her plastic hands over her mouth, as Chucky blinks with shock, the mirth disappearing almost instantly.

"N-No..." Pamela murmurs, nearly petrified, "... I can't..."

Another strike, another crack along Freddy's broken jaw. Robert can hear the start of skin tearing, knowing even in his blood lust, in his blind fury, that if he kept striking, the flesh of Freddy's face was going to rip clean off, most likely taking his jaw with him... like Yoko in the Saeki family's attic... Yet Freddy never stops staring up at him with that maniac's grin. It fuels Robert's anger to know that the dream demon is _enjoying_ this.

 _Damn it, I knew he'd be pissed but this is_... Freddy thinks, Robert catching his thoughts and striking him harder... _ridiculous_!

Robert strikes him again with his left fist, then his right, and his left once more. Fighting like a man rather than a monster. He grunts, each hit striking something deeper and deeper in his very core as though he's the one being struck instead of Freddy, as he thinks of Billy, but the boy's back is turned to him, the boy's head turning slightly as he starts to look, before turning away again... The mental imagery pains him as he thinks of wet grass late at night as he keeps striking, a nightly breeze drifting by, grunting more and more forcefully with _hunger_ and _rage_...

... and yet the rage triumphs his starvation...

The grass is wet with the nightly dew... stained with _blood_... an intricate design to them, the pattern of turtles decorating the ground... another hit, much more livid than the last... decorated with _blood_...

 _Billy's_ blood...

... the clown grunts with _fury_.

He thinks of the damp, nighttime grass underneath his physical form's legs as he held Billy close to him, the boy's back against his chest, the boy not once ever actually seeing his face, or some version of it... the clown having only been moments away from sinking his teeth into the soft flesh and tearing it from the boy's bones... devouring him whole... swallowing his _soul_... he thinks of himself lying on his desk, miserable and _dying_...

He yells as he keeps throwing punches, his physical form taking on an unearthly, otherworldly glow as chitinous limbs start to stretch out of his body. He thinks of how he had scratched Billy's poor side, tearing through his _dad's_ jacket (the next hit is harder than every one before it, Freddy actually letting out a pained sound, though the masochistic bastard still grins just as wickedly), and tearing into his flesh, making the boy bleed.

 _Robert_ made _Billy_ **_bleed_**.

Guilt pierces him, as though one of Freddy's blades... or perhaps even Beverly ramming a piece of metal, a piece of a broken fence, into his eyeball, tearing it through his skull, and popping out of the other side of his head... He knows what the dream demon thinks of him. And he _hates_ it. He hates Freddy, hates the fact that he knows and finds the entire situation _humorous_ , and even _pathetic_ , as he hates _himself_. He bellows angrily at Freddy's thoughts.

 _What a pussy_.

He lets out the sounds of his devastation, his depression, and his rage, his fury, as he keeps striking Freddy, switching between right and left, just as Beverly had done to Connor... even in his fit of rage, his bout of self-induced starvation, and even his guilt, he still acts as though he's a man rather than the creature he really is... he fights as though he truly believes he can be a _man_ , rather than nothing more than a shapeless, nameless _monster_.

A Boogeyman in the darkest corners of the bedroom, lurking in street corners, in half ajar closets, and the shadows under the bed... a more feared Boogeyman than a demon of dreams, a creature that turned them into nightmares... Robert could not help but wonder if he was doomed to eternal loneliness, tormented by his own nightmares and his own powers turned against him. Robert, being nothing more than a mere shadow lurking in the darkness, her button eyes flashing in his vision...

He starts screaming as he thinks of Billy, the boy's back still turned towards him, the boy barely even looking at him, barely even acknowledging his existence... deluding himself into thinking that they were nothing more than nightmares... when Billy was the one, out of all of the Losers, who _knew_ they weren't.

At least, he had in a past life...

He screams as he keeps hitting, each hit stronger than the last, as his entire body, that of the clown, Robert "Bob" Gray" mixed with Pennywise the Dancing Clown, the suit and the makeup, but not the hair, as well as the obsidian colored chitinous limbs, glow with that unearthly, otherworldly orange light...

A never ending light...

A Deadlight...

His cries of his devastation and his rage, his depression and his fury, his regrets and his hunger, are becoming mixed in sound. Muddied and distorted. The agonized screams of a man in torment, the vengeful, wrathful roar of a monster in a frenzy... the terrified screams of a monster, the desperation of a man... the sounds are at _war_ with each other, mirroring the creature's own feelings and inner turmoil.

A truly vicious, a truly _inhuman_ , an absolutely _unearthly_ , mysteriously _otherworldly_ roar all but bursts out of the creature, popping out like the sound of a balloon exploding. Out of, not Robert "Bob" Gray, not out of Pennywise the Dancing Clown, but out of **_It_**.

His entire form, clown and monster, spidery limbs and human figure, glow with that equally unearthly and otherworldly orange light.

A never ending light, vast and endless glowing limbs, orange and color, beyond deadly to the human eye...

A Deadlight...

 _The_ Deadlights...

His lights.

Not a _dead_ light, as hers had been in his dream, for Robert himself was not dead, not now at the very least, or perhaps even _yet_ , but it was lit up, like a firework on the Fourth of July, as he kept striking, over and over again, screaming and sobbing and even _laughing_ as he did, his heart beating improperly, sporadically and mimicking the sound of a heart attack as well as a dying beat at the same time, as his stomach rumbled, bellowed, and _roared_.

His heartbeat as _un_ steady as the beating drum.

He screams his agony, his hunger and his rage, as he sobs his devastation and loneliness, his _regrets_ , and laughs a maniac's laugh, nearly cackling. Those sounds are at war with each other, mirroring the creature of which it comes out of.

 _We all go a little mad sometimes_...

He keeps striking, pounding Freddy's face until he feels bones crunching, snapping like twigs beneath feet, and even hears the cartilage in Freddy's nose breaking, feeling it cave in beneath his knuckles, beneath his obsidian claws. His eyes have changed as he glows. To the outsider's perspective, it would be quite like watching a large, glowing spider, orange in color, attacking the ticket seller. That was the only creature the eyes of Pamela Voorhees, Charles Lee Ray or Chucky, and Tiffany Valentine, could describe.

They were, after all, _human_ before they became what they were. A madwoman stricken with grief, a maniac who became a monster, even just a little one, before doing the same to his bride...

These chitinous limbs tear at Freddy's person, burrowing deep into the bastard son of a hundred maniac's sides as she had done to Robert in his dream, piercing and stabbing, twisting deep inside before tearing the flesh away. Yet not once, not even for a brief moment, did a flicker of pain register on Freddy's still grinning face. Not even once did the beats of Freddy's heart quicken with fear, because he was not _afraid_.

It would appear that a large glowing spider, humanoid in figure, was attacking him, and even the painted face of the clown remained the same, though his teeth had visibly sharpened, looking like hundreds of needles made of ivory jabbed into his gums, broken before shoved right back in, as he bellows and sobs and roars and _laughs_. A man's arms and fists continue striking Freddy's face, as a spider's limbs continue attacking his body, just as the clown's eyes glow with that unearthly, otherworldly, orange light.

No pupils, no irises, no sclera. Only light. An orange, vast, never ending light.

His Deadlight. His entire _being_.

He goes to strike once more, harder than all those before, perfectly prepared to pound the person beneath him until his skull caved in and his brains and blood splattered the stage, decorating it like a madman's blank canvas, but as he reels his left arm all the way back, his gloved hands soaked in blood that was his own and Freddy's, that is when Krueger, with his own gloved hand, grabs Robert's fist before it can hit him any more.

The blades of the glove dig into the clown's flesh, startling and silencing him.

The orange glow dims, but it does not die, nor does it disappear, though the spiderlike limbs do shrink back into his body. He returns to the clown form, save for his eyes. The clown's eyes, they do not return to that lethal red, and instead remain those same two balls of orange light swirling within the depths of the orbs, glowing monstrously.

Similar to what Georgie saw in the cellar, but rather than silver, they remain orange.

Yet even with no iris, no pupil and no actual sclera, those eyes stare at Freddy's gloved hand with shock as his own hand starts to bleed, the fabric of his glove tearing on the back of his hand as his flesh quivers from the sharpness of the blades, the skin parting, separating like sand. He looks down at Freddy as his eyes return to the illusion of normal, the irises and the pupils and the sclera returning, though instead of lethal red or ominous yellow and definitely not starry blue, they remain that vast, never ending orange color.

He stares down at Freddy as the maniac looks back up at him, his eye welled shut, already purple and black, caked with blood, his jaw dislodged from its proper place, and blood gushing from his broken nose. His entire face is splattered with it, the bastard looking even worse off than Robert. His entire face is mutilated and Robert guesses it will most likely remain disfigured from his wounds in this physical form unless Freddy returns to the dream world...

... by his own will...

... or if he dies...

Robert doesn't have a preference, though he knows that the reverse order is usually what comes to pass. Freddy's death and his return to the dream world.

Freddy stares up at him, his pupils blown, though Robert can only see one, the steeliness of his bluish grey eye lit up with that same maniacal, wicked gleam. He speaks, though his words are slurred, blood, his own and Billy's, dripping from his lips;

"That's enough, _clown boy_."

Freddy gurgles and hacks before spitting out the blood, though Robert feels no hunger anymore. Only a sort of numbness and emptiness. He sees that there is barely any humanity left in Freddy Krueger. The darkness of Freddy's blood, the majority that he spit out, outweighs the sweetness of Billy's.

Freddy pushes him back, still gripping Robert's hand as his blades dig into the clown's wrist, slicing through even more of the skin as it rips through the fabric, and he grabs hold of the other clown's hand as he stumbles, using Robert for support. Freddy continues to grin.

"Do you really want to punish me, clown boy?" Freddy whispers to him, a fountain of blood streaming from his lips, gushing down his chin and soiling his white undershirt and apron. "Are you sure it's _me_ that you want to punish?"

He speaks, his words garbled, still slurring on his words as though he's a drunk. The clown realizes that he bit his tongue, but not because of him. It was on _purpose_. Robert is certain he is right now, the dream demon, drunk on adrenaline and the wicked glee he feels.

He hasn't been human for a while... in flesh, blood, and bone.

Their hands are still clasped together, Freddy holding onto the clown's fists with his own... neither Freddy nor Robert, dream demon or otherworldly creature, can shove the other any farther back...

... a battle of strength... a battle of some semblance of humanity... _morality_...

... a battle of wills...

Freddy pants as he continues;

"Are you really that perfect of a _monster_ , clown boy?" he asks, his grin stretching even further, ear to ear. "With your history, and this bullshit you've got going on now, there's just no fucking way."

Freddy suddenly pulls him closer rather than trying to shove him back, releasing the clown's hands as he steps in front of him, turning his back to the rows of empty seats as Robert faces them, before the maniac wraps his arms around the clown, as though hugging him, holding him close as he rests his chin on Robert's shoulder. Robert flinches as he hears the splintering of bone, like the bark of a tree breaking off. He feels no regret, however.

Personally, he thinks Freddy is an ass.

"You've smelled that boy's blood already, haven't you?" Freddy murmurs in his ear, knowingly. And not because he's seen Robert's dreams, his memories, as Katherine had done to Freddy, her own father. His grip around the clown's back tightens, Robert groaning as he hears his own bones, those of this physical form, starting to crackle and pop. "How much did he bleed? Was it a lot? Where did you get him?"

Robert stares up at the ceiling, the bright lights illuminating his saddened, guilt-ridden face. Billy's little face flashes in his mind's eye, the boy smiling as brightly as the sun shines. Not at Robert in particular, he has never actually smiled at Robert, not in this life or that previous one, though some selfish part of the clown wishes the boy would... and then he imagines Billy in the street, on the corner of Jackson and Witcham, merely inches away from the storm drain where his brother would have met his death, the boy doused in Patrick's blood as though he'd had a shower but instead of water it was blood... the boy blubbering incoherently as Patrick's screams echo in his head... all of it, memory.

Nothing was fond about that memory. Nothing was fond about a lot of Robert's memories, of this life and that previous one. Memories he'd rather forget, though he cannot...

Irony...

Thy mistress is cruel...

Freddy just chuckles in his ear.

"You don't really think yourself above the rest of us, do you, clown boy?" Freddy asks him quietly before bellowing, startling Pamela, "You're someone who got his hands, his _claws_ , dirty with the same blood as me! You're nothing fucking special just because you weren't human first!"

Robert's own jaw falls slack, his pupils contracting, as he feels a sudden, sharp pain digging into his back, starting from his shoulder, just along the blade of it (more irony, he thinks), and slowly, almost sensually, and sickeningly, stretching across the expanse of his back. Not one, not two, not even three, but all four of Freddy's bladed claws are tearing through his suit and piercing his flesh, slicing it through it as though it was butter, and tearing it away from his body and he can feel the coldness of his own blood welling to the surface as it slides down his back, staining the white of his suit and sticking to his skin.

He hears every moment of the flesh of this physical form tearing away from his bone, separating like sand and parting like a sea, as he feels the blood gushing from his wounds.

He then pities, and empathizes, with every single one of Freddy's victims that died at the blades of this glove or even a manifestation of it. He particularly feels disturbed when he remembers Freddy tricking Kristen Parker's mother into thinking her daughter had attempted suicide... instead of nearly getting killed by a dream demon...

It began with Tina Gray... so many names and faces of dead kids, teenagers and children alike, even a few adults, flashing in Robert's mind's eye as he unintentionally remembers them, though it isn't his own memories he's seeing. Their Freddy's memories, though only one of them is feeling remorse and pity for the death of those kids... and it ended with Mark Davis... not counting the more ruthless version of Freddy Krueger's kills, though Robert knows she took inspiration from that darker version of Freddy Krueger to hurt Billy that night in the store...

He then wonders if he had failed to realize they had already been working in tandem to provoke him, though he has no idea what Freddy has to gain by helping her. He doesn't collect the souls of this world, because the kids aren't sleeping. Unless this is all just entertainment for him since Englund retired and Craven...

He stops that line of thought.

His blood drips and then splatters to the stage, drenching it in scarlet.

"Let it go, clown boy," Freddy says quietly, still slicing into Robert's flesh, reminding him of Anthony Hopkins, so deeply as though he intends to watch as the clown's spine falls out of his body, though is slow and cruelly methodical in his practice. "Let these wounds be a mark of friendship... you and Billy Boy, you're equal... _now_. You and I aren't so different. I'm just not a pussy. Let the irony sink in; I can actually _stomach_ it." Freddy says, chuckling Englund's low and gravelly chuckle, his eyes wide with that same wicked delight. "Irony really fucking hates you, doens't it?"

It does, Robert thinks grimly as he grunts, every muscle in this physical form's body tense, worsening and deepening his pain, as Freddy continues tearing through his flesh, with only Pamela, Chucky, and Tiffany as his witnesses.

"I mean, do you really think you're above the blood lust just because you weren't human first?" Freddy asks him, sounding genuinely curious even as he continues the slow torture. "Take Mama Voorhees over there; she only started killing after living with an abusive prick, like your gal pal Beaver-ly, and had a kid with a face only she could love. When that kid died, well, you know what happened next. She didn't ask to be fucked in her head, neither did Michael Myers and Victor Crowley certainly didn't ask to get an ax to the face because of a bunch of asshole kids."

Freddy lowers his eyes as he too remembers.

"I didn't even ask for this shit..." he murmurs and Robert's eyes widen as he feels the emotions Freddy feels. The emotions Freddy's _always_ felt. It is then that Robert realizes that, underneath that crusty exterior, the maniac that haunts the nightmares of kids and teens alike, since even Wes Craven was a boy... there has always just been a lonely kid underneath. A softness underneath that crab's shell. "They could have taken me out of Springwood, my bitch of a mother could have loved me despite how I was made, could have sent me away, but they _didn't_. And yet, here we are now, with me being the asshole in every possible scenario," Freddy says quietly before sighing heavily, his eyes hardening but Robert can see right through him. He sees himself, only slightly different. "Take Doll One and Doll Two, not counting their freakshow kids, or even Hannibal the Cannibal."

"No motive. Never said why Charles Lee Ray became the Lakeshore Strangler. Even in that shitty sequel he was just an asshole who killed some guy and stabbed a pregnant woman. Never said why he got so fucked in his head. Unless you count that novel. Guess Tiff's motive was to impress Chucky. They never said who sought vengeance so desperately that it manifested the actual demon Pumpkinhead. Only little Tommy, who got his guts carved open like a turkey on Thanksgiving and for what? Just because he looked a little different? Never said why Hannibal Lecter got off from eating people. If Hopkins ain't in the movie, it don't fucking count. Billy Loomis was a fucking moron, you and I can agree, and his mama was a hypocritical bitch. Just as bad as my mother. But everyone's got a motive, clown boy, sometimes we just don't know what it is. So, what's yours?"

Freddy goes on, still tearing through the fitted doublet of the suit and tearing more flesh from Robert's person, blood covering the stage as though a blanket while Pamela, Chucky, and Tiffany continue to stare with a horrified shock, though he can tell Chucky is torn with who's side he's on right now. After all, it would be impossible to not notice the pool of blood bathing the clown's boots as well as Freddy's, the ass of the clown's pantaloons drenched in it, as well as the thighs, the backs of them, and even the insides, and his calves.

"Do you want to fuck the kid or eat him or just keep others from having him? Gonna be a real hard thing if he meets Audra, isn't it?" Freddy asks, still sounding genuinely curious. "I mean, given your history... all those memories of yours..." he says in that same low voice, gravelly and nastily.

Robert's eyes water and sting. He remembers, though he does not want to.

"Nah, what you really regret is taking that little ball of that clown bitch's light and putting it into Billy Boy," Freddy says, grinning evilly. "You regret the fact that that happily ever after doesn't exist in this world. You think you get to be some kind of hero in this fucked up story? Let me tell you something, pal, you're not fooling anybody. Least of all, me."

Freddy's lips brush over the shell of his ear, teeth tickling the lobe of it and Robert would be disgusted and maybe even disturbed by this action, if he wasn't bothered more by the next words that came from Freddy's mouth;

"You wanna know the secret of pain? If you just stop _feeling_ it, you can start _using_ it."

Freddy laughs again, shoulders racking with his cackling.

"Bitch ain't going to rest until she gets what she wants. Never heard of a _monster's_ ghost before. I mean, Japanese ghosts, they're fucking scary, especially that damn rattling sound, so what's going to happen to you and your little Billy boy? I think you've run out of _tears to shed_ , buddy," Freddy licks his bloodied lips before continuing, "You've still got the scar, haven't you?"

Robert lowers his eyes as he remembers, staring at the blood circling their feet. He does still have the scar. The very one that is on his back and his chest, having gone through his back and popping out of his front before getting yanked right back out. Yet despite that wound, his heart kept beating despite the sheer _imbalance_ of it.

In his bloodied reflection he doesn't see the face of the clown. Of Pennywise the Dancing Clown or even Robert "Bob" Gray. He sees himself. Sees Itself.

He sees **_It_**.

A being no human eye could see without either becoming catatonic or dying instantly. With Tom Rogan and Audra Phillips as prime examples.

"I made a promise, clown boy, and I'll keep it. I'll keep your bitch in check," Freddy says quietly. "But I've seen those kids. Georgie? Roberta? Something like that? Something actually good in the shithole multiverse we live in, or Macroverse, whatever, it needs to be protected. But just so you know, your delusions of grandeur or self-righteous suicide aren't helping anybody. Billy Boy especially. You can't get away from your own nature," he says, placing his other hand on the back of the clown's head, almost sympathetically.

 ** _Almost_**.

Because his touch makes the claw wounds on the back of the clown's head flare with pain, the blood already drying and crusting and even scabbing over.

"Sucks, doesn't it? Being Stephen King's ultimate horror masterpiece, one of the damn things that leaves the ending open, and yet here you are, lurking in street corners waiting to kill teenage rapists."

Freddy's next words are a soft whisper;

"The biggest difference between you and the rest of us, is that we were _made_ monsters. You were born one. And besides, don't act like 'monster' isn't a relative term. Just ask yourself this, are you, a being more ancient than Betty White, going to sit back and take that abuse, or are you going to do something about it. You're a _monster_ , whether you like it or not. It doesn't matter though, what matters is what you do with it. We both know you're one of the lesser of the two evils."

Yet, to Robert's shock, and dare say empathy, Freddy's next words are quite sad, and he is certain that the dream demon is no longer grinning. And perhaps is even truly trying to empathize with him.

"Not a day goes by that I don't think about Wes. You'll be like me, missing King eventually... and that's my point. Sure, it was pretty entertaining watching you get all hot and bothered, _not_ sexually, but you may not have long. You may die at the end of this bullshit story, so if you really want to save those kids, you'll make the most of it." Freddy lowers his eyes, anger flickering in them, though it isn't directed at all at the clown. "Word of warning, you and I both know that humans are a far worse monster than even your Bowie singing bitch. And it isn't just Marsh, Denbrough, and Bowers I'm talking about," Freddy whispers.

Robert looks away. Who else could he be talking about?

"C'mon, you know who I'm talking about. Or, you'll figure it out eventually. One of your clown pals died because of them, did they not? I can see more dreams than you, buddy. You're stuck in Derry more now than ever, aren't you? Let's just say that if it isn't your clown bitch that gets Billy Boy, or any one of those Losers, or even Henry Bowers or little Georgie, it might just be another piece of shit human being."

 _But **who**?_ Robert could not help but wonder, a feeling quite like a rose's thorns prickling his skin overtaking him.

He feels warm, he feels powerless, and everything _hurts_. He knows Freddy tore his flesh from his shoulder blade, going down in a curve, to his lower back, running along the clown's whole back as though he was slashed by an animal. He stares up at the stage lights, seeing the bright whiteness of them gazing right back down at him as though they were countless, judging eyes. The white of the lights change, bleeding into a scarlet coloring as rose petals, red as blood, fall all around them, though he knows the flowers and the lights are only visible to him, his mind taunting him with the shimmering, shininess of blood. The petals fall, like leaves in autumn, to the painted floor of the auditorium. He knows not if the blood is supposed to be his or Billy's...

 _I suffer for this blood_...

And with that, Freddy lets him go, letting him fall to the floor in a boneless heap. His back flares with pain, starting from the blade of his shoulder and going all the way down to his lower back, where a tramp stamp would be at, and the clown falls into the puddle of his own blood, staring up at the ceiling with a depressive expression. Freddy leers down at him, grinning again, though now Robert knows it's just a front for how much Freddy himself as suffered.

Despite all of those kills, despite all of that torture and everything Freddy has done, when he was alive and dead, he still loved something, as much as a person like him could. His daughter. And even Freddy tried not to harm her in that sixth installment, as much as he could avoid it. He _let_ himself be killed, all just to avoid harming her more than he already had.

Empathy. Sick and twisted, borderline delusional, but empathy nonetheless.

Freddy truly hadn't asked to be born, just as Amanda Krueger, Sister Mary Helena, hadn't asked to be raped, hundreds of times, by the maniacs and then birth Freddy, but he wasn't wrong when he said the people of Springwood could have done better by him. Leaving him in Springwood was a terrible decision in the first place, because the parents whispered about him, their children overhearing it, and Freddy was a victim of bullying himself. If they had sent him out of Springwood, as a baby, or even if Amanda had found it in her heart to love her son despite everything, as Pamela Voorhees had loved Jason and even Thomas Crowley had learned to love his son, or even the witch to Tommy, then things might have been different.

Freddy Krueger was the epitome of a child's fear, a creepy man that frightened Wes Craven as a boy, but the story behind Freddy Krueger's character, at least before that crossover, was that of a misunderstood boy who had been made into what he was today. He was messed in the head already, even as a kid, but the bullying didn't help.

The voices of children chanting, tauntingly, at him; "Son of a hundred maniacs! Son of a hundred maniacs!"

And Robert could not help but feel pity for him.

"And if I were you, and thank whatever God that's left up there that I'm not, I'd see to it that I get a full meal before taking on a pissed off monster ghost. You'll be _lucky_ if you get the ending from _Mama_ ," Freddy says before turning and walking away, nearly slipping and falling into the blood as he does.

Robert closes his eyes. He is feeling...

... petty.

"You're right," he says quietly, nearly whispering, as he gets on all fours, blood sliding down the back of his neck as his knees and shins are bathed in his own blood. He knows this suit is ruined, and that he'll have to make himself another one, but he'd rather not do what he's about to do after making himself a new suit. "You're absolutely right..." he says, poising himself on his haunches, lifting his heels as he prepares to spring. "I really am... _hungry_."

Freddy stops. He turns his head to stare at the clown, who is sitting on his haunches, fingers brushing the bloodied stage, a predator poised into the striking position. Though, for the clown, he cannot help but feel empathy. Remorse is for later, empathy is for right now. So is pettiness. Freddy gives him an unimpressed stare.

"And you think I'm petty," he retorts.

He blinks when realization dawns on him that it is not a taunt. Tiffany even gasps, understanding flickering in her green eyes. Freddy stares at him, still unimpressed.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me --"

Robert lunges, teeth bared as his mouth stretches impossibly wide, moving faster than the speed of light, his entire mouth stretching like a monstrous thing, hundreds of sharp little teeth adorning the pink flesh of his mouth, as he swallows Freddy whole, devouring him instantly. He barely registers the chomping sound he makes, or the crunching of Freddy's bones and the splattering of his blood, or even the petty satisfaction he gets. Tiffany lets out a shuddering gasp, a squeak that Robert knows is a strangled scream escaping past her plastic lips. Chucky stares with a shocked, open-mouthed grin. Pamela stares at him with impossibly wide eyes as Robert reforms back into the clown character, trying not to think of a trapped little boy in a mirror house before a monster clown killed him the very same way.

Robert, or Billy.

 _Slimy_ , _yet satisfying_ , he thinks grimly. Pettily. Though he knows Freddy bears him no ill will after this. He can just tell.

He blinks as his eyes widen, a sudden pain flaring up in his throat even though he knows it isn't even of Freddy's doing. He opens his mouth, blood splattering out of it as Tiffany gives a shocked scream, he starts to choke and cough before hacking, tasting blood in the back of his throat, going down his throat, his own cold blood, as he feels the coldness of blades slicing along the flesh of his throat as though he's swallowed broken glass. Or sharp knives. He gets back down onto his knees, blood soaked palms on the floor. His wounds from his nightmare have healed, he realizes as he heaves, blood gushing out of his mouth as he arches his back, bending like a cat with a really bad hairball, before stretching his mouth again and hacking out the bladed glove, which is drenched in blood.

Freddy's and his own.

The blades clatter and clink together as the glove falls to the ground next to the fedora and the bloodied Freddy mask. Robert stares at all three items with a grim but satisfied expression.

The three killers stare at him with shock, two with barely concealed terror and the other is impressed. Tiffany and Pamela are both shocked, but the latter is definitely _grateful_ despite the fact that she has no intention of ever getting on the clown's bad side. Robert would be offended by the fact that his actions, his killing Freddy, have successfully prevented her from ever using the resurrection spell from the Necronomicon, or any spell for that matter, if he wasn't happy to know that he did some good by another world, even if he was in agreement that Barry and Claudette were useless as camp counselors.

Especially since a year later they were doing the same shit before they were murdered.

He stumbles as he stands, his face returning to the illusion of normal once more, his knees quivering as the flesh of his throat starts to heal. Much more quickly, of course. Devouring another monster, Freddy of all people, is almost as satisfying as devouring a child full of the Shine...

"You..." Tiffany says, her soft voice trembling slightly, "... are you alright, sweet face?"

That was a relative question, wasn't it? He'd be humbled that she cares, if he didn't feel as though he'd been run over by an eighteen wheeler and gotten hit by every single wheel.

He looks up at her with depressed eyes as his wounds start to heal. Every single one of them, as his belly feels quite full. An adult, much more meat than a child, and although Freddy didn't have the Shine per say, he was still full of a power nearly as ancient as Robert. His physical form is still bony as ever, still drenched, head to toe, in his own blood as well as a bit of Freddy's, but his stomach is satisfied.

For the moment at least.

"No," Robert says truthfully, lowering his eyes.

Pamela is the only one that dares to approach him despite the evident fear on her face. She picks up Billy's doll and the ruined book, both somehow having gone without touching any of the clown's blood. She stares them sadly before handing him both items. He takes them, nodding his thanks, before staring at them with the most miserable expression Pamela had ever seen.

"Remind me never to piss you off," Chucky says.

Tiffany glares at him and smacks him on the chest with the back of her hand, an angry look in her green eyes as she scowls at him and his lack of empathy.

"Shut up, you asshole."

Robert's lips twitch into a faint smile at their antics, before it dims again. Quite like a dying light bulb.

"I... I think I need to be alone right now."

And with that, he stumbles away and out of the auditorium. He has no intention of performing another show, considering the fact that Billy and Georgie both missed the end of the first one, and as he leaves, the blood slowly fades away from his entire suit and person as well as the wounds on the back of his head and his sides, fading away as though they were never really there, though the pain lingers. A bit of work on Freddy's part, he knows, perhaps even a bit of an apology, though he knows Freddy is still a bastard. He's better now, is the point, and his wounds are healing much more quickly, his illusions becoming reality as he makes the blood disappear. He departs, flinching as he kicks the broken padlock away and bends the door even further to get out, kids staring as he exits the auditorium, many of them looking relieved to see that his injuries and the blood is gone.

They think it really was just a prank, at least Eddie is hopeful about it, and for that, Robert pities them. Pamela and Tiffany stare at him sadly while Chucky shakes his head, imitating shooting himself in the head with his fingers, causing Tiffany to glare at him. Pamela's eyes are soft and gentle, motherly. She whispers, barely audible, but both dolls and the clown hear her, loud and clear. Her words are laced with nothing but empathy.

"One truly is the loneliest number."

He knows every drop of the blood is gone and the fabric of his suit fixed, the wounds left behind by Freddy already healed up and gone from his physical form's skin, as well as the wounds on the back of his head and his sides, the pain gone as well now, as he sits on the swing set he manifested for himself. It was almost sad how not a single child in the circus noticed, too busy wrapped up in whatever game they were playing or being pissed that the bus was shut down, or they were away in the theaters and watching movies, mostly horror ones of their choosing, or playing the arcade games. He knows Richie was currently playing _Street Fighter_ , much to Eddie's annoyance. Robert didn't understand why, since _Mortal Kombat_ was far superior. He supposes he should be somewhat relieved, since now he can sense the thoughts of the kids again, hear them as though they're speaking instead of thinking.

He swings slightly, well aware that he had unintentionally manifested a second swing right next to it and an even smaller swing next to that one. He swings slightly, his hands against his knees, Billy's doll in one hand and the ruined book titled _The Labyrinth_ in the other. The words are salvageable on the pages, meaning that if he does give Billy the book, though he doubts he will now, then at least the boy will be able to read it.

Some part of him hates Freddy, but he knows that by hating Freddy he's merely hating an extension of himself. He loathes the fact that the dream demon isn't wrong, that Robert was already a monster long before any of the visiting characters were even speckles in Maturin's eyes before he belched them out, spewing them across endless universes all because he had a _belly ache_. Though, Robert honestly had no idea who the hell Freddy had been talking about when he said that another human being posed a threat to Billy, one that wasn't his father.

Freddy had mentioned one of Robert's "clown pals", and that gives him an idea, since the only "clown pal" that hadn't died by the hands of the Losers Group, was the one that died in the facility... all he knew was that humans truly were monsters far greater than any on the big screen, most of them tending to be human beings or had been before they became literal monsters. It was a relative term, Robert knew.

He lowers his eyes, a depressed look on his face that someone takes notice of almost immediately. He's mostly just sad now. He isn't really embarrassed by the fact that Freddy knows his dreams, knows his memories of that past life, though most of the time the clown's dreams have been his own and locked away from any intruders. He supposes that's what he gets for asking Freddy of help, but he knows for a fact Freddy isn't petty enough to go back on his word for keeping her in check just because Robert killed him.

He doesn't feel bad for killing Freddy, as he wasn't the first and he probably wouldn't be the last, but he also knows that Freddy isn't wrong.

He, Robert, It, is a creature older than time itself, an ageless creature behind the limitations and boundaries of a single reality...

... Or... at the very least... Robert _had_ been...

He does still have the scar on his heart, having been stabbed through by a madman unable to accept defeat for the second time. That scar was a constant reminder that Robert could never go back to that life, and would most likely never have that life. Never again. He could still travel between worlds, even when hungry, though it hurt like a bitch, but he would never see that world.

Georgie and Roberta, they were not bound by such limitations. They had been different than her offspring, the ones stomped on by Ben Hanscom, as they had been born in flesh, blood, and bone rather than the way her offspring would have been. Robert sees snippets of that old life and he hates himself as he longs for something similar to that.

Pamela's words were not wrong, and Robert can compare himself to John Doe, because all of the others really were gone. He was the last one. Yet he is a mere extension of a life that was once before, just as she, the shadow, is now. They both were. An alteration of the light after death, though Robert had yet to actually die.

He stares down at Billy's doll with a sad look on his face, his thumb brushing over the hair of it longingly.

He would not hurt Billy, nor Georgie, none of the Losers, even Mike and Ben, not if he could avoid it. He knows what she had implied in the dream about Sharon Denbrough, implying that he could go after her if he got hungry enough despite his being bound to Derry, as Freddy had said, but he has a feeling that even though Billy resents her, he would hate the clown more if he killed his mom. His dad was a whole different story, of course. He gazes miserably at the book and Billy's doll, seeing his own misery reflected right back on the little face of the doll. He's so warped in his own thoughts, his own self-loathing and his guilt and his loss and loneliness, his longing, that he misses the fact that Billy, flanked by Georgie, is approaching him. He even misses the fact that Billy takes the swing next to his, and Georgie taking the smaller swing next to Billy. That is, until Billy speaks, startling the clown.

It makes his heart, the clown's, skip a beat.

A lively thing.

"Huh-Hello."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Thanks again for every comment and kudo left on the story!  
> \- Let me know how it was in the comments below!  
> \- Sorry for any typos and I'll be seeing y'all in chapter seventeen! Big plans a coming!  
> \- Also, I'm well aware that Mortal Kombat didn't come out until after 1989 ;)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Chapter seventeen!  
> \- I'm going to admit, idk what happened with the date on the previous chapter. I know I posted it on the 18th but it says the 15th, which I do think is the day I posted the draft of it and things got a little funky. Today is the 28th, I started the draft on the 26th so let's see what happens. Hey, long as the story doesn't get accidentally deleted(Ohmygod I would be so fucking pissed), no harm done, right? Ah, a Simpsons reference...  
> \- Speaking of references! I've never actually seen Manhunter, the 1986 version based on the novel Red Dragon. I have seen Red Dragon(2002), and the scene in this is inspired from the tiger scene and of course, how could I not have a Madagascar 3: Europe's Most Wanted reference? I've got more ideas planned for later ;) Also hints at The Breakfast Club with Molly Ringwald and Judd Nelson and the mentioning of Carrie and "Lickers" comes from Resident Evil: Apocalypse ;)  
> \- I've got more ideas planned ahead with Robert and Billy, of course, one involving the quarry, maybe two, that's all I'm saying for right now, but I'm excited for the upcoming chapters.  
> \- Also, right now, I've got something, SOMETHING, in mind for his mom, Bill's, but it's like a cloud trying to take shape in my mind. I'm working on it ;) and I don't want to spoil anything, but I have definitely got something in mind for Beverly's mom  
> \- Also, also, y'all are gonna be mad at me for the start of this chapter lol 'cause it doesn't just jump into the Billwise  
> \- Just a heads up, this does have Henry in it so there's more mentioning of bullying and homophobia and child abuse  
> \- Thank you all for your sweet comments and kudos, they're my favorites. Always happy to hear constructive criticism and let me know if there's any tags I'm missing! Let me know how it was in the comment section below! Also, I love the comments asking for privacy for Bill and the clown. Don't worry, that's a coming ;)  
> \- Edit: Idk what's going on with the date I'm posting these chapters, I'm guessing it's that thing about posting the draft on that day and for whatever reason it's posting the wrong date.

Bill supposes he can say there are a few bright sides to getting injured, though he personally would have preferred not to have been at all. Georgie was just optimistic like that. It was just above his hand, rather than in a more dangerous spot, as he was sure Eddie was bound to rant about, and there were only three cuts, not nearly as long nor as deep as the slashes on his bicep or the scratches on his hip, so he thankfully didn't need stitches, and Georgie got two free suckers from the little nurse.

Although that last one was mostly because he, or maybe she, wouldn't leave them alone and had even followed the two of them out of the bathroom with the suckers until Bill took them, the older boy slipping his sucker into Georgie's hand as another little man, this one dressed as a janitor, darted into the bathroom with a mop.

He was also grateful that the nurse had made sure the bleeding had stopped, though it had taken a while, before applying the gauze. He had no idea that wasn't just for his sake. He was also grateful that Georgie was with him, though he wishes Georgie didn't have to see him get injured, again, and this time actually seeing the injury happen instead of the aftermath of it, but the real reason was because Georgie was actually good at making Bill feel better about the entire ordeal by suggesting they get ice cream.

Though, Bill was hoping there were no repeats with the ice cream, as in more stains on Georgie's shirt and a mess all over his mouth and the licking of his fingers, which resulted in this entire event, and Bill knew he had to watch Georgie's shirt as soon as they got home.

Though, there were definitely a lot more ice cream flavors than Bill had anticipated. He didn't know who came up with the idea of strawberry and peanut butter ice cream, but he was pretty glad they did, since it was actually delicious, while Georgie settled for a chocolate and vanilla swirl. The weird thing was, though, after about five minutes of aimlessly wandering around, seeing all of the carnival games and prizes, as well as Bill realizing it was more like a fair than it was a circus, unless he was just imagining things, he realized that the ice cream wasn't melting. Not even a drop had slid down the side of his cone, or even Georgie's.

Of course, that didn't stop Georgie from managing to smear it all over his mouth, Bill smiling at the sight with a small shake of his head. Bill guesses that the lack of the ice cream melting was another bright side, albeit a weird one because it wasn't cold out. It was summer, hot out, so why wasn't it melting?

However, as he sees the kids swarming around, exiting the stage area, and heading back to the games and carnival rides, he remembers that Georgie left his doll on the bleachers, and hopes either Beverly or one of their friends grabbed it, or it was still there. He hopes for the first one, but on the small chance that it was still there, he simply hopes they get to it first.

"W-Wuh-We b-buh-better go get y-your doll G-G-Guh-Georgie," Bill says quietly as he takes Georgie's hand, the two of them making their way through the crowds of kids, Bill surprised to see a lot of unhappy faces in them, particularly on Connor's bruised face.

He spots the large CLOSED sign next to the sign for "Freddy's Party Bus!" and realizes they're all standing in front of the vehicle, and he guesses correctly that that's why. He ignores this, however, in favor of going back to the stage and the bleachers, ignoring the dirty look he receives from Connor, as though the boy blames him for this as well, Bill not about to tell him that may or may not be the case, and he sees that the Losers are gone, along with Georgie's doll.

The stage area is empty, as are the bleachers, except for one kid other than himself and Georgie. To Bill's faint surprise, it's Henry. To his greater surprise, potential dread, and maybe even his suspicion, he sees that Henry is the one who has Georgie's doll. As well as a _Creepshow_ comic book, but Bill's eyes are on the doll.

His dread comes from the fact that he doesn't even know if Ben's doll was a new one or somehow the same one, and he doesn't like the idea of Henry Bowers of all people having Georgie's doll. His suspicion comes from the fact that Henry has Georgie's doll, Bill guessing their friends must've missed the fact that it was still on the bleachers rather than in Georgie's chocolate covered hand, the fact of the matter being that the doll was _undamaged_.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot about that," Georgie says, smiling slightly as he looks up at Bill, also having seen that Henry has his doll and Bill's comic. "Some guy gave me a comic book and told me to give it to you. It was in my pocket... guess it fell out."

"Oh..." Bill says quietly, not really caring about the comic book, as he still stares at Bowers with suspicion.

He thinks he would be angry about the fact, Bill's bully having Georgie's doll and a comic book that was meant for him, if Bowers didn't have the gloomiest look on his face, a mixture of complete and utter misery, as though _his_ day couldn't get any worse, mixed in with a look of confusion, as though he still can't figure out where he's at and why. He still has that same misty-eyed look about him, as though he can't figure out what he's doing and why, and even Bill can see he looks so _sad_.

Bill bites his lip. He doesn't want to start a scene, again, but Henry is alone. Connor was by the bus, angry that it was closed, and he doesn't see Belch or Vic anywhere, and Henry wasn't the one who started the incident earlier. Bill sighs. He's getting Georgie's doll back, one way or another.

"St-Stuh-Stay b-b-buh-buh-behind m-muh-me G-Georgie," Bill says quietly, holding Georgie's hand protectively as he pushes his little brother behind himself, much to Georgie's annoyance. He doesn't like Bill babying him, though he does appreciate knowing his big brother would protect him from a bully, but Henry isn't a bully. Not to Georgie.

He honestly does consider Henry one of his friends. Even if he has to be a secret one.

"Huh-Hey," Bill says, swallowing as he stares at Bowers with a firmness in his eyes that doesn't at all match with how he's really feeling.

Scared, but angry.

Bowers blinks, his eyes flickering with surprise as he seemingly breaks out of a trance. He stares at Bill, blinking in a way that makes Bill think Henry's mind cannot comprehend what's happening at the moment, before the blonde boy lowers his eyes back down. His grip on the doll and the book both tighten, visibly.

"G-Guh-Give th-them buh-back, Buh-Bowers," Bill says, sounding firmer than he really felt.

Henry's lips twitch and lower into an even deeper frown, something Bill hadn't realized was possible, but before Bill can repeat himself, Georgie approaches Henry, wiggling his little fingers out from between Bill's. He ignores Bill's stare on the back of his head, and simply holds out his little hands for the doll and the book.

Henry twitches and fidgets, clearly uncomfortable, his blue eyes even darting around as to see if they were alone, once again only thin blue rings around the black dots that are his pupils, before he sighs heavily. To Bill's shock, he simply hands Georgie the doll and the comic, rather than dangling them over his head and taunting him to take it back, as he has done to Bill numerous times before. Bill has no idea that Henry was recalling those very same memories, the boy now feeling guilty about them rather than nastily amused.

"Thank you," Georgie says, his smile chipper and his tone pleasant.

Henry lowers his eyes again.

"You need to be more careful," he says quietly, his voice sounding just as sad as his face looked. "Vic... he saw it... asked me to cut it up..."

Bill's own frown deepens, a sort of anger flickering in his blue eyes.

"Wuh-Why didn't y-you?"

Henry looks at him and shrugs.

"I didn't feel like it," he says quietly.

He didn't really. He had felt concern when he watched Bill walk to the bathroom with a chocolate covered Georgie and saw the ticket seller follow them to the bathroom, only to feel sick to his stomach when he saw a panicking ticket seller running out of the bathroom, a whole lot of blood dripping from the blades on his glove, which Henry had thought was just a dumb prop at first. He was the one who realized, before Vic, that none of the other Losers had grabbed Georgie's doll or the comic book that had fallen out of his pocket. Once Vic had, he wanted to cut it up, the doll, as he thought Henry and Patrick had done to Fatty's doll... even though Vic knew Henry had lost his knife and hadn't been able to find it...

"I told him to fuck off," Henry admits awkwardly.

He doesn't expect Denbrough to be grateful and he can't blame him. Though, the smile Georgie gives him is full of nothing but gratitude. Having been the reason somebody, anybody at all, smiled, a genuine thing, actually makes Henry feel like less of a despicable piece of shit.

"Wuh-Why?"

Henry shrugs again, looking away.

"Y-You..." Bill says, staring at him with that same suspicion. He doesn't trust Bowers as far as Bill can throw him... he has no idea how that sentence is going to later affect Henry. "You duh-didn't huh-have a p-p-puh-puh-problem doing that to B-Buh-Ben's."

He will never forgive Henry for that. He isn't the one Henry carved, like a Thanksgiving turkey as Richie had so eloquently said, but Bill knew how it felt to be cut like that just as he had to see Eddie patch Ben up. He is certain he will never trust Henry around Georgie, no matter what Georgie thinks about friendship. He also knows that Ben will never forgive him either.

Henry lowers his eyes again as he folds his arms over his knees, pressing the latter against his chest. If he was lying on his side, he would be in the fetal position. He feels lost again... like a little boy in a big wide world, having lost his way and becoming scared as he tread a lonely path...

"No, I didn't," Henry says quietly, unsure of why he was telling Denbrough but doing it anyway. "I didn't see it... last I saw, Patrick had it."

An icy shock courses through Bill at the use of Patrick's name, the boy barely even registering the fact that Henry just admitted to not wrecking the doll. He can't control it, can't steel his emotions even in front of Henry Bowers, and he stiffens, visibly, as his eyes immediately start to sting and then water, every inch of him feeling disturbed as he remembers the feeling of Patrick's hand...

... a pained whine almost escapes him as he feels cold, as though it's started pouring rain again, and as though he's just jumped into a pool of wiggling insects... worms and maggots...

... he can see Patrick's grinning face... though it's much more corpselike now... rotted over, scabby and dead, his eyes glazed over with the paleness of death...

... Bill's insides _hurt_...

... the memory of the scarlet eyes comforts him, but he still can't help how he feels... even if Patrick hadn't been outside, meaning he wasn't at the circus, and Bill hasn't seen him since the nightmare...

He can't stop thinking about it now that Henry's brought Patrick up again...

Henry stares at him, Georgie too, one with concern and the other with confusion, which masks his concern.

"The fuck is wrong with you?" Henry asks.

He feels a weird squirming in the pit of his belly as he sees the look of Bill's face. He has seen a look in his mirror at home plenty of times, just as he remembers seeing it once before on Beaver-ly's face, although it reminds him more of Beaver-ly than it does himself. He watches as Bill's eyes go from white and normal to pink and glassy, the younger boy now resembling himself as he did moments ago, clearly remembering memories he didn't want to, and Henry watches as Bill seems to curl, almost instinctively, into himself, his knees quivering and his thighs visibly jerking... his breath turning short and raspy...

... _terrified_...

Henry would have to be either a moron or the most oblivious person on the planet to miss Bill's reaction to the use of Patrick's name. He'd had a similar reaction when Connor had mentioned something Patrick had said about Bill, Henry recalling that Patrick was keen to call him "the Denbrough Slut", Patrick having been the one to coin the rude nickname, and his eyes harden as he thinks.

He can see that Bill is trembling, quite like he often does whenever his dad is in a drunken fit or is just bored or pissed off about something or other. However, it reminds Henry of Beverly Marsh, because he's trembling and twitching, clearly discomforted, and his eyes are teary and he looks ready to start crying, as she did once before...

... because of Henry, no less.

Henry can see that Bill is scared, scared about _something_. Something to do with Patrick. It makes him think of Beaver-- he internally sighs, biting his lower lip -- it reminds him of _Beverly_ (he's not ready to start using her actual name instead of that stupid insult... definitely not in public) back when he, Belch, Vic, and Patrick had followed her home from school and had cornered her outside of the apartment building she lived in.

She had been scared and frozen solid, like a damn deer caught in a car's headlights and clearly scared as all hell about getting hit but too terrified to move and get out of the way. Her dad had been fucking pissed when he found out, having caught them after coming home from work. Bill looks to be the same way, but Henry knows his dad probably wouldn't give a shit. Henry honestly didn't know why he did the things he did, like bullying the kids that were smaller than him, using his fists and hurtful words... he just wanted to look _cool_. His dad always liked to hit him for getting things wrong, so he had just thought that... if he acted more like his dad... maybe that would have stopped... it never did, his dad often getting mad at him for bullying other kids, too, because it looked bad on his dad's reputation... Henry never did anything right, did he?

He just... he realizes now that Beverly has never seen him as anything more than just a nasty liar, a big bully, just like the younger boys at school... he really fucked up in cutting Ben, didn't he? His own eyes feel stingy as his nostrils flare, the boy feeling ready to cry, the same as Bill, Georgie looking between them with confusion and worry on his little face.

Henry had always just thought... well... she had just big, blue eyes and the prettiest hair... it had felt so soft between his fingers that day... Beverly, he'd always thought, was so pretty... he just didn't know how to deal with... _feelings_ and stuff like that... he just knows he always liked her hair. It suited her... the color making the freckles on her face stand out, the boy knowing she has dimples when she smiles but she never smiles at _him_... he can't blame her, why the fuck would _she_ want to smile at _him_ of all people... but still... he still liked it even after she chopped most of it off, but admittedly he thinks that the short hair looks cool on her... The bad boy thing was definitely cool, he always liked it and he knew a lot of girls did, but he wanted to be _her_ bad boy... Beverly's, nobody else's... He knows he _should_ apologize, for all the bullshit he's put her through and that day at the stream, but he just _can't_.

At least, not _yet_.

He sincerely doubts an apology is going to cut it unless he tells every single person in school that he made it up and that he was an asshole, and even then he doubts it would do her any good and for that he feels like the world's biggest jackass. Especially since he knows he _can't_ even do _that_ , the boy thinking himself to be one of the biggest pussies in this shithole town.

Georgie's doll takes no notice of Henry's change of heart, of his confused and upset thoughts, the closing of his eyes as he too starts to tremble, on the verge of tears. The glassy, tearful look has returned on the black buttons on the doll's face, another on the verge of tears and too far warped into his own misery to do so.

Henry's fingers fidget and twitch as Georgie takes Bill's finger, the boy not even noticing. Henry doesn't know why, but he is severely uncomfortable with the fact that Bill looks just like Beverly that day he, Belch, Vic, and Patrick had cornered her. He understands that he, Belch, and Vic had invaded her personal boundaries, ruined her reputation in this crappy town, and that they acted like complete and utter assholes, but what sticks out now most of all about that memory is the fact that Patrick hadn't joined in even though Beverly Marsh was the prettiest girl at school... or at least in Henry's opinion, she was... and now, now that Henry thought about it... hadn't Patrick made a weird gesture with his tongue at the Losers on that last day of school? A bunch of _boys_?

Well, back then the Losers were just Four Eyes, Wheezy, the Jew, and Stuttering Bill... though, Patrick had taken to calling him the Denbrough Slut just because his mom took off with money, cheating on his dad and ending their marriage horribly, everyone in this town knows that... Or, at the very least, Patrick was the only one, that Henry knew, that liked to call Bill that, kind of like how Henry knew Gretta liked to call Beaver -- Beverly... that name...

Henry grimaces... he actually _wants_ to _apologize_ , so badly, but...

 _This is going to be harder than I thought_ , he thinks grimly.

He remembers when Patrick met Connor, too... his grimace deepens as he thinks of his cousin. He likes hanging out with him, he does, he wouldn't exactly say he _loved_ him (his dad was adamant that that word was said only by girls), but he hadn't been very... impressed when Connor started picking at Bill when he was carrying around two tiny little babies, neither of whom Henry has even seen since that incident... both had been dressed like clown's... and Connor had even asked the ginger one if Mr. Gray was her dad...

 _Fucking moron_ , Henry thinks bitterly, shaking his head.

He knows he should have helped start kicking ass during the fight, though he hadn't actually seen it, but the strange part was that he wasn't sure who's side he was supposed to take or even who's side he would have taken had he been there; the Losers or his cousin and his friends...

Well, Belch and Vic hadn't acted like very good friends to him, not lately, like Georgie had said back at the Barrens. They had ditched Henry when he needed them the most, and Henry found it pretty fucking sad that a seven-year-old kid, who had just gotten done throwing rocks at him, and winning, having nailed Henry in the head no less, was a better friend to him in five minutes than Belch and Vic had been for years, ever since they were little kids... Henry was pretty sure that day back at the Barrens was the first time he had ever actually interacted with Georgie Denbrough, albeit unwillingly, but still.

Patrick was supposed to be his friend too but he hasn't seen him for a while, at least not in person. The only place Henry has seen him, he recalls grimly, is on a telephone pole, on a Missing Kid poster. He knows Patrick is one of the missing kids, like Betty Ripsom and Ed Corcoran and Veronica Grogan, none of them having really up and joined the circus to get out of Derry, he's guessing, and he guesses that means just like them, Patrick is gone forever, too, never to be seen or heard from again, and that disturbs him.

Not because he misses Patrick, he knows about the fridge in the junkyard, but it disturbs him because clearly before he went missing, for whatever reason, whether it be because there were a lot of runaway kids in Derry or because some creep was wandering around, he did something to Bill. Something that clearly upsets him deeply, even now. Patrick has been missing since that last day of school... hasn't he? It's been a while, he knows that.

He can see Patrick did something, something obviously very bad, worse than the usual physical bullying, and Henry has the disturbed idea of what it could have been. He's not as stupid as his little cousin seems to think. He knows Tozier didn't start anything at the arcade, there was just... there was a reputation Henry had to upkeep in Derry, and unfortunately for Tozier, that meant he'd have to be stomped into the dirt to preserve it, lest Henry get beaten by his dad, again, and potentially Connor would be beaten as well, if Oscar "Butch" Bowers that, for even a second, that his son, and maybe even his nephew, were;

" _Filthy fucking queers_!"

" _Pansy-assed pillow biters_!"

" _Fucking flamers_!"

Henry flinches, visibly twitching, at the memories of the belt cracking, the leather striking his back and the buckle smacking his skin, leaving behind deep indents and harsh welts, bruises and scratches and _scars_. Sometimes Henry doesn't have enough muscle relaxant cream to make the pain go away... He knows, from personal experience, that the physical scars are jack shit compared to the emotional ones. His dad never thought of him as gay, he just liked to get drunk and wail on Henry because of the topic or some other bullshit thing...

The reason he's thinking about it again is because he knows Patrick didn't have to worry about being beaten into a bloodied, bruised pulp by his dad... he knew about Patrick's preference. He always knew... there are things he doesn't talk about, things he'll take to his grave... but he has the disturbed feeling... well, he knows, from Georgie, that their dad is a douche, too. It starts with the bruises... then it gets worse... and it never, not even once, ever stops. He has the feeling Patrick may have tried something worse, and he fears, genuinely fears, for Bill's sake, about whether or not Patrick might've... succeeded...

Why _him_? Why did _he_ have to be the one to comfort Bill? Well, nobody asked him to, but now he feels guilty because he can't help but feel as though it's his fault Bill reacted this way because he mentioned Patrick...

"Hey... uh..." Henry says, clearing his throat awkwardly as Bill looks up, the most miserable and scared expression on his face now, Georgie staring up at Bill with concern. "C'mon, man... don't... don't cry about it... he got another doll, didn't he?"

Bill's lower lip quivers as his eyes sting. He can't stop thinking about it again, but the coldness dissipates... only a little, but he knows it's better than nothing. Once that dam breaks, every time someone mentions Patrick's name, he can't stop the flood. He can't stop being _afraid_. He sniffles as he feels stupid, having shown Bowers a moment of weakness and Patrick was gone anyway... though, he can't help but be impossibly confused. Why wasn't Bowers just beating on him for crying in front of him? He had no problem beating on Bill until the point that he did cry, in the past, the force behind his hits getting stronger after Bill began crying, so what was so different now?

"J-Juh-Just g-guh-give the d-d-duh-doll buh-back, Buh-Bowers," Bill says, scowling as he wipes at his eyes with his non bandaged wrist.

Henry flinches again, feeling hurt even though he has no right to. That isn't what bothers him, however.

"I did..."

Bill flinches, feeling stupider by the minute.

"Guh-Good," he says unhappily. "Duh-Don't... d-don't t-touch huh-his s-s-stuh-stuff again."

Henry scoffs slightly.

" _That's_ the thanks I get?" he asks snappily, Georgie staring between them with an upset look on his face, "I get it, I'm an asshole, I fucking carved a kid like he was a turkey on Thanksgiving just because... because..." Henry grumbles as he resists the urge to pout like a child... "I didn't have a reason... I just felt like it. I'm an asshole. I get it. I fucking get it."

Bill glares at him, the coldness of remembering Patrick's foul touches disappearing. He hates having nightmares and he hates being reminded of them. He knows Patrick is gone, gone for good, hopefully and thankfully, but _still_. He can't blame Bowers entirely for spiking the bad memories again, the horribleness of a nightmare the older boy has no idea about, but he isn't happy to hear that Bowers wanted a 'thank you' for taking Georgie's doll... even if he had kept Vic from ruining it...

"Thuh-Thuh-Thanks fuh-for n-nuh-not wruh-wruh-wrecking huh-his doll," he says snippily, knowing this isn't how he would normally act, certainly not around Georgie, but he can't help it right now. He wants so badly to throw Bowers' own words back in his face, the words he often told Bill and his friends;

 _Now beat it_.

But he doesn't. He can see how miserable Bowers really is, Bill having always known he wasn't as happy as a boy should be but he didn't think that was an excuse for making every other kid in Derry as miserable as he was. Whether or not he was having some epiphany, for whatever reason...

Bill's eyes fall onto Georgie, who is staring up at him with a sad frown. He hates the fact that he knows part of the reason why Georgie is frowning, now, is because of him. Because of how much Bill hates Bowers, and vice versa... He knows he should be the bigger person and just walk away, or even thank Bowers properly, but he just can't. Not at the moment, at least.

Bill had been a victim of Bowers' bullying for _years_ , since he was a boy. For as long as he could remember. He remembers often coming home, bruised and bloodied, his mom having to patch him up, even before Georgie was born. First it was because he was smaller and considerably weaker than Bowers, easily punched out, and then because of his stutter. Richie was the same way, considered weaker and smaller, easily beat up, though his glasses often received the brunt of Bowers' misplaced anger and his fists while Vic or Belch held Richie's arms behind his back. Stan and Eddie had the same problems, it was part of why they became friends so easily and why their friendship had lasted for as many years as it had, though Stan faced scrutiny for his religion and Eddie for his medical problems.

Beverly... Bill had no idea why Bowers made up such a lie about Beverly, but that was actually worse, in Bill's opinion, than getting beat up every day. The lies, the whispers, the nasty rumors... she had no friends before joining their group, Bill knew. At least he, Richie, Eddie, and Stan had each other, she had nobody. And he knew it was because of Bowers.

He fails to realize Henry is fully aware of that fact, and beyond guilty about it.

Ben was just the new kid at school, who was a little bit on the chubbier side. Henry had no reason, no reason at all, to hurt him the way he did. Bill hadn't a doubt that H shaped cut was going to scab over and be a scar that would linger until the day Ben died. Or forgot about it, assuming that was possible.

He hates Bowers... and yet he pities him, too. Because he knows Georgie is right when he says that Henry doesn't have good friends, not like Bill's. He doesn't have good friends, Belch and Vic being followers above all, big brutes and bullies, and Bill supposes...

"Thank you..." he says quietly. "Fuh-For n-nuh-not l-luh-letting V-Vuh-Vic wruh-wreck the doll..."

He means these words, because he can't imagine how upset Georgie would be to find out his doll had been wrecked, all just because Bill couldn't have thought to grab napkins after seeing Georgie open the chocolate bar... or having the foresight to grab the damn thing when they went into the bathroom to clean up the chocolate mess...

Henry stares at him, figuring that was the best he was going to get. He's more grateful than he thought he would be, he realizes. He swallows thickly as his insides start to _hurt_. He feels the cracking of the belt... the knuckles of his dad's fist against his face, the large bruise on the side of his face throbbing with the familiar pain. His dad had found his doll before he had, and had punched him in the face for it. He hadn't wrecked it, because he figured Henry should at least enjoy free food from the circus, but Henry knew that was why the bastard was a hypocrite. He wouldn't have to pay for feeding Henry, for a while at least, but still didn't think his son should "play with dollies" and Henry honestly did not want to repeat the insult he came up with for the clown.

"No problem," Henry says quietly. "Just be... take better care of your shit..."

"Yeah," Bill says quietly, sniffling again.

Henry's eyes lower once more.

"I, uh..." he says, quite awkward, with a shy but _sincere_ smile forming on his lips, "... other than my... douchebag cousin... how's the circus?"

Bill stares at him, his lips quirking as he raises an eyebrow. Since when the hell does Bowers care about how the circus is for him?

"Nuh-Not buh-bad," Bill says.

"Bill got hurt," Georgie says bluntly, Bill sighing as he does.

Henry's eyes fall onto the gauze around his wrist. His lips twitch as a thoughtful look crosses his face.

As he stares at Bill, he thinks he respects him. Because even though Bill's own home life is probably really shitty, or steadily getting worse and going to be really shitty, since his mom ditched and his dad turned into an asshole who liked to bruise his own kid, he's still a good kid and still takes care of his little brother. Not because he's getting something out of it (though if Henry were to take a guess, he would assume it would be not getting beaten by his father), but because he actually cares about Georgie... who Henry knows couldn't have made that shit up about the bruises and Bill's dad... and Henry knows that if he had a big brother, he'd either be an asshole to him, or if he had a little one, he'd be just as much of a jerk...

He realizes that, deep down, he wishes he could be more like Bill... stronger, like him... Henry just... he's just not... built like that.

Bill stares right back at him.

"I..." Henry starts to say but he closes his mouth, teeth snapping shut before gritting together, a lump forming in his throat as he struggles to speak, almost stuttering himself on his words. His cheeks are darkening, pink and then red. Humiliation and embarrassment. Bill knows Bowers isn't mocking him, but he doesn't understand what Henry Bowers would have to say to him that would make him struggle to speak... "I just want to say... for all... the shit... I've done... you know... I'm... s-sor--"

His insides are clenching. They _hurt so bad_. His heartbeat isn't steady, feeling ready to pop out from between his ribs. Henry hides his face in his forearms. He wants to apologize because ever since Georgie told him about their dad... Henry always just wanted to be like his dad... he always wanted to be cool, he wanted to make his dad _proud_ of him and he wanted Beverly Marsh to _like_ him, not _hate_ him.

He knows he would _never_ subject another kid to the shit he endures, just as he realizes that's exactly what he's been doing to any kid smaller than him for _years_. Nobody, nobody at all, not even what little bit he can remember of his own mom, had ever given him a _hug_ just because they _wanted_ to. Nobody wanted to be his friend just _because_. Georgie was different, he knew. He knows, in a way he doesn't understand, that Georgie didn't act kindly to him to make him stop picking on Bill. That would just be a bonus.

The thing was... Henry wanted more of that, more of a genuine friend who cared about him, not about his reputation or because they got to beat up a bunch of smaller kids together. He actually wants a friend. Someone to hang out with and joke and have laughs... but not at the expense of another kid... He actually wants someone to give a shit about him but because they want to, not because they feel obligated or forced into it... he had liked being hugged by Georgie, because it was the only kind act he could remember anyone ever doing for him...

He understands now that Belch and Vic only ever hung around him because they thought he was the cool kid who had slept with Beverly Marsh... he gets to be cool and she gets to be a slut... what kind of messed up shit was that? He knows he shouldn't give two shits about Bill Denbrough and his loser friends... just as he knows he feels bad for all of the crap he's put them through... he fucking _cut_ a kid's _stomach_... he nearly killed Mike in that alley and back at the stream... but he _can't_ apologize...

His eyes are burning, feeling heavy in their sockets... the tip of his nose tingles as he forces down the tears as he has always done, ever since he learned that the tears only urged his father to strike him harder and make the beating last longer... He _can't_ apologize...

Not _yet_ , at the very least...

 _There's gotta be an easier way to do this_ , he thinks desperately.

Georgie stares, understanding what Henry was trying to do while Bill was left in the dark, and while he wants to reach out to him, hold his hand and tell him to take his time, he doesn't. He's not going to push Henry, or out him like that. Bill is his big brother and Henry is his friend, now at least, but he promised he'd be Henry's secret friend until he was ready. Georgie doesn't break his promises, just like Bill has never broken one he made him.

"Uhm..." Georgie says, smiling, "d'you know why they closed down the bus?"

Henry looks up with that same misery filled gaze in his eyes.

"Some kid got hurt," he says, scoffing as his eyes linger on Bill's bandages. "I'm guessing that was you, then. They didn't just close it, they shut the whole thing down. The fuck did you do?"

Bill wants to ask, " _What do you care_?" but refrains. He can see that Henry is clearly trying to be genuinely nice, which as weird as it was, as suspicious as that made him, of both Bowers and his own brother, he could not be a jerk. Not when Henry seemed to honestly care about something other than himself... unless he just wanted in on whatever it was Bill did, or had happen to him, that resulted in the bus getting shut down. He guesses then that was the reason why Connor thought it was his fault, probably having seen the gauze and then put two and two together.

"Tuh-Ticket s-s-suh-seller," Bill says, swallowing as he takes Georgie's hand again. Henry frowns at the action, especially since Bill pulls Georgie away from him. "G-G-Guh-Gluh-Glove."

Henry's frown deepens.

"I thought that was just a dumb prop," he says, grimacing at the mental imagery. He's seen enough _A Nightmare on Elm Street_ movies to know how that usually ends. "Uh... are you..." he clears his throat, "You're obviously fine then."

This is surely one of the most awkward moments both Bill Denbrough and Henry Bowers have ever experienced. Henry for caring about someone other than himself, for genuinely worrying about someone else's sake, especially Bill Denbrough's, and Bill for seeing that Henry Bowers was honestly considerate of someone else's wellbeing. _His_ especially.

"Yuh-Yeah," Bill says, just as awkwardly as Henry.

Henry grimaces then.

"No wonder the clown was so fucking pissed," he says, Bill frowning at the words, Georgie too. Henry looks between them. "You didn't see it, did you? Nearly gave Kaspbrak a heart attack. Looked like he came out of the scene of a horror movie. He had blood all over him. I mean, you'd think he stepped out of the prom scene of _Carrie_ or some shit or got stabbed to shit," he says quietly, still staring. "I don't... I don't think anyone else knows it was you."

 _Connor does_ , Bill thinks grimly. Yet that doesn't stop his heart from beating strangely at the thought of the clown getting hurt, though he doesn't understand how that could have been.... maybe he was in the middle of a performance and received word of an injured kid? And messed it up and injured himself?

The dolls, not just Georgie's, are still too warped in their own misery to notice what's going on. To realize that the clown has become the topic of Bill and Henry's conversation.

"Wuh-Was he o-okay?" Bill asks, his heart still beating strangely as his stomach feels queasy.

"Ran into the auditorium covered in blood, all pissed off," Henry says, shrugging slightly as he lifts an arm, propping his elbow onto his knee and leaning the side of his face, the one without the bruise, against his fist. "Came back out clean. I don't know, but he must've done something, or is doing something, 'cause nobody's seen the Freddy Krueger rip-off."

"Who's Freddy Krueger?" Georgie asks, looking up at Bill.

"Duh-Don't w-worry about it," Bill says, causing Henry to raise an eyebrow himself, "y-you duh-don't nuh-need to be w-wuh-watching those muh-movies anyway."

Georgie shrugs then, because if Billy says he can't watch those movies then he won't, while Henry stares at him with shock.

"Dude... you don't let him watch horror movies?" he asks, appalled.

Bill can't help but glare at him.

"Nuh-No. Th-They're nuh-not guh-good for him."

"Bullshit," Henry says, drawing out the 'bull'. "Dude, they're the best thing about this shithole town. They teach you how to survive in a shitty situation."

As much as Bill agreed with that statement, he still didn't think Georgie needed to be watching movies like that. He likes horror movies, too, but they're still too gory for Georgie, he thinks. Besides, Georgie got enough by seeing Bill lying on the dirty floor of the grocery store doused in his own blood and then injured by the ticket seller's glove.

"Besides," Henry goes on, now looking miserable again, a sense of longing pooling in the pit of his belly and panging his heart, "At least you and your loser friends would survive a horror movie if we all somehow ended up in one."

Bill ignores the insult in favor of rolling his eyes.

"Wuh-Why's that?"

"'Cause you've got each other," Henry says, looking away. "There's, what, eight of you? Wouldn't have to worry about splitting up... and I... I know..." he clears his throat. "None of you guys would break that rule about surviving horror movies. The first one. I... I, uh... I know Beverly hasn't... not with... not with me..."

Bill tilts his head curiously. He knows which rule Bowers is talking about. Was... was that his way of admitting he was full of shit when it came to that rumor? Georgie doesn't understand what he's talking about, but does understand, in his own way, that this is Henry's way of telling Bill the truth. On his own terms, in a way that he doesn't completely embarrass himself. Of course, both boys notice Henry used her actual name instead of that hurtful one.

Although Bill doesn't know why Henry would be telling this to _him_ instead of Beverly. It isn't really Bill's business, not even really Henry's but this matter was between Henry and Beverly. Bill would take her side, in a heartbeat, without question, but still.

"You know, the fifth movie's coming out this summer, in the theater," Henry says, ignoring Bill's curious stare. "You going to see it?"

"I don't knuh-know," Bill says, now looking at his ice cream, which has still shockingly yet to start melting. "Suh-Seems dumb. T-Too muh-many s-sequels."

That was a lie. Richie wants to go see it, despite the fact that he's said himself that if they keep making too many sequels it's going to ruin the entire franchise, and Bill wants to see it because he does love horror movies. Bill can agree with Richie on the thing about sequels, though.

"Yeah, eventually it messes up the storyline," Henry says, shrugging slightly. "Originals are always the best, anyway. It's not like they could ever remake a movie and have it be better than the original."

"I duh-didn't say that," Bill says, surprisingly feeling like he could start smiling. It feels... it feels weird, to be talking to Henry Bowers, as though they were actually friends, even if they were talking about something like horror movies. He supposes that it's nice to see they have _something_ in common. "If thuh-they s-start ruh-remaking muh-movies, they c-could be buh-better than the or-or-or --"

Bill bites his lip before gritting his teeth, his cheeks darkening. Henry is silent, not even feeling that usual urge to start mocking Bill for his stutter. Now that he thinks about it, he would hate having a stutter, having to fight to speak and being picked on for having something you certainly didn't ask for...

"You know," Bill says bitterly, pleasantly surprised to see that Henry isn't mocking him.

"Yeah," Henry says, smiling that shy smile again. "Your clown pal looked like he could've starred in a horror movie. Could've been in _Killer Klowns from Outer Space_."

"C-Clowns aren't suh-scary," Bill says, "o-only the guh-guy under the s-suit."

"Says you," Henry retorts, his eyes widening briefly, "You didn't see him. Fucking looked like he was about to _explode_. It's funny, I thought people turned red when they were pissed, not orange," he says, unaware that he was actually the only one who had seen the hints of orange poking out of the clown, also unaware that it wasn't a trick of the light. He sighs, "My cousin was a dick to you earlier... it wasn't... it was uncalled for... what was with the mini-clowns anyway?"

Bill lowers his eyes, wondering if he was treading thin ice.

"I mean, you know..." Henry says, sounding awkward again.

Bill shrugs. He owes Henry Bowers no explanations, but the fact of the matter was he was admitting Connor had acted out of line earlier... which meant he was taking Bill's side in the matter, not Connor's... picking a _kid_ he had _bullied_ for _years_ over his own _cousin_...

Bill has no idea what Georgie said to Henry that day in the Barrens, understanding now that was surely the case, but clearly it must've been something that struck something deep in the older boy, because he knows Henry would never act this way if Georgie hadn't said something deep and meaningful to him.

"They're vuh-visiting, according t-to the c-c-clown," Bill says, smiling at as he remembers the happy smiles on their little faces, the shrill giggling. "I muh-met them a-and th-they w-were all alone. I duh-didn't w-want to luh-leave them alone... so I t-took them with m-muh-me to fuh-find my friends."

Henry can't help but frown slightly as he remembers Patrick again, as well as Betty Ripsom, Ed Corcoran, and Veronica Grogan. He was only ever friends with Patrick, never really caring about Ripsom and Grogan, and occasionally bullying Ed... now he remembers there were bruises that he, nor Vic, nor Belch, nor even Patrick had left on that kid... Ed's stepdad had been an asshole, too, hadn't he?

"Two little kids that tiny running around the circus? Alone? That's like asking to be on a Missing Kid poster."

"Yeah," Bill says softly.

Henry is quiet again. Bill sighs.

"Th-Thuh-Thank y-you, again... fuh-for nuh-not wruh-wrecking it and fuh-for nuh-not luh-letting V-Vic d-duh-do it..."

"Yeah..." Henry says quietly, miserably.

Georgie looks between them, neither boy saying anything else. Both are looking awkwardly away, both clearly uncomfortable by the situation.

"Are you guys friends now?" he can't help but ask.

Bill gives him a small smile and shakes his head. He has no idea how deeply that hurts Henry, even though the older boy knows he deserves it.

"Acquaintances," Henry murmurs.

Miserably.

"Suh-Sure, th-that," Bill says.

Henry bites his lip.

"Well, I bet your clown pal could use a friend right now," he says bitterly as he points behind them, past the stage area. Both Bill and Georgie turn to look, seeing the clown sitting on a swing set that only has three swings. The one he's sitting on, one right next to it, and a smaller one next to the second swing. "At least the blood is gone."

Bill's lips part as he stares at the clown's back, a strange feeling enveloping him as his heart skips a beat and his insides start to squirm funnily. He can't actually see his face, since the clown's back is facing him, but he's certain the clown is upset, because his head is hanging low and he isn't swinging, only sitting. Not only that, but the employees are giving him sympathetic looks.

"But it was a nice talk," Henry says quietly, secretly meaning it.

Bill stares. He bites his lip, also having an internal debate.

He isn't going to be a jerk and take advantage of Henry when he's clearly having a moment of weakness. But he isn't just going to forgive and forget all of the taunts, all of the punches, all of the bullying just like that. Just as he knows Richie, Eddie, and Stan won't either, nor will Beverly, Ben, and Mike, those last three especially. At the same time, he sees that Georgie really is right...

"Muh-Maybe... m-maybe it w-wuh-wouldn't buh-be so b-bad if there wuh-was another..." Bill says quietly, seeing how Henry blinks with shock and then for the briest of seconds, he sees that blue really is the color of hope with how Henry's eyes _shine_. "... t-talk thuh-that is."

Henry blinks again as he actually starts to smile, Bill realizing that this is the very first time, ever, that he has seen Henry Bowers smile such a genuine smile. Rather than a taunting thing, a smug sneer or something equally nasty, cruel and twisted enjoyment from beating on other kids or simply bullying them and promptly getting physical... Henry's smile reminds him of Georgie, with how happy, delighted, and childish it is.

Henry nods at him, grateful. At the same time...

"I should probably go... quit getting injured," Henry says, his way of saying "Be more careful" as he stands and walks away, his head hung low as he walks past Bill, though he doesn't even shoulder past him as he normally would. As he did on that very last day of school.

Bill and Georgie both watch him go, watch him disappear into the crowd of kids, though it takes a moment as most of the kids part and jump away to get away from him. To Bill's surprise, he can see that Henry has an upset look on his face when they do this, rather than the smug one he often always had in the hallways at school when it happened.

"Wuh-What did y-you suh-say to huh-him?" Bill can't help but ask.

He isn't suspicious anymore, and he isn't unhappy about the fact. He guesses he's just pleasantly surprised to see that Henry doesn't want to act like a total jackass anymore. He can't fault Georgie for being kind to Henry, though Bill dreads the idea of what Henry could have done to him, whether it was beating him up, as he always did to Bill, Richie, Stan, and Eddie, and probably Mike, too, or even cutting him, like he did to Ben, or making shit up, like Beverly. At the same time, he feels a warmth in his chest in knowing how _good_ his little brother is, clearly so good that he can bring out the good in others.

Even Henry Bowers.

"I told him that he wasn't cool for lying about Beverly," Georgie says honestly, "and that I wanted to be his friend. And, like mom always said, that if he apologized to you, Ben, Beverly, Stan, Eddie, and Richie, that maybe you would all want to be his friend, too." Georgie smiles, sheepish. "I didn't say Mike, but I didn't know him yet."

Bill stares at his little brother, a mixture of pride and love in his chest. Mostly he just wonders how it was possible that a sweet natured kid could exist in this shithole of a town.

"Th-That wuh-was vuh-very d-dangerous, Guh-Georgie," Bill says. He smiles when Georgie lowers his eyes, not because he regrets his decision to offer Henry his friendship, but because Bill repeats how dangerous it was. Bill smiles. "I'm puh-puh-proud of you. Juh-Just don't m-muh-make a habit out of it."

Georgie smiles up at him, mouth and chin smeared with chocolate and vanilla ice cream. He's finished it, the ice cream and the cone, but before Bill can do anything, Georgie wipes it off on his sleeve. Bill stares as Georgie beams.

"I'll wash it for you."

"Duh-Don't muh-make p-puh-promises y-you can't kuh-keep."

A pink tongue darts out between Georgie's lips.

"Kuh-Keep s-sticking that out at m-muh-me and I'm taking it."

Georgie laughs at him as his eyes fall back on the clown.

"I think he could use a friend, too," he says cheerfully.

Bill's lips twitch as he looks back at the clown, his heart skipping another beat and his insides feeling jittery. For whatever reason, the slashes on his bicep aren't even throbbing anymore, nor is his wrist, and yet the scratches on his hip are tingling. A dull pain, but not uncomfortable. For whatever reason, there is a pang in his chest as he walks towards the clown, Georgie following him with the happiest expression on his face.

Bill isn't sure what it is, but he feels as though he wants to just... well... did he want to talk to the clown? Or did he just want to sit on the swing set with Georgie? There were three swings... enough for all three of them... or did he just want to sit on the swings because that's where the clown was? He didn't know what it was, but he felt... strangely drawn to the clown. Maybe it was because unlike the rest of the adults in Derry, the clown was actually nice and could tell the difference between who starts the fight and who finishes it, and told Connor off and defended Bill and Beverly, and had been kind to Georgie...

Or maybe that was it. Maybe Bill was still suspicious of the clown after all, because he still didn't buy into the whole "clown in the storm drain" thing, but that still involved the clown just as much as it did Georgie...

Strangely, the clown doesn't even notice their arrival. Bill, however, notices the look of utter and sheer misery on the clown's face, an expression far more glum and morose than even Henry's had been, as though his day is the worst of them all and it really can't get any worse, jinx or no jinx. A stranger feeling of empathy lingers in the pit of Bill's belly as he takes the swing next to the clown, Georgie taking the smaller swing next to his and swinging happily, kicking his legs out and about as he holds his doll with one hand and Bill's comic with the other.

Bill stares at the clown's face, his handsome, painted face, and his miserable gaze... the boy registering the fact that his doll was in the clown's hands, as well as a ruined book (some part of him despising whoever mistreated a book in such a way), but not really paying those facts much attention, as he does the clown's eyes. He had thought they were a deep and rich blue, starry and glittery, deep as the ocean, now they look so sunken in and miserable. Not only that, but Bill is pretty sure (pretty, not absolutely) that his eyes have changed color, because they look to be a paler coloring, a chalky, stormy bluish gray...

... why was he so focused on the clown's eyes?

His lips quirk as he thinks about what he wants to say, but his mind comes up blank. As though he might've wrote something down on a chalkboard, before it was erased entirely. Pencils leave behind marks, the chalkboard not so much. Completely and utter blank.

Though he does wonder if it really had been an accident, what happened with the ticket seller, and guesses he's being dumb because of course it had been. Why the hell would the ticket seller intentionally harm one of the kids? If he was being a creep, that was one thing, but he didn't seem like it. And he had seemed pretty shocked and upset himself that he had injured Bill, and had dashed for help... though Bill had yet to see him again. Was he hiding in guilt or had the clown gotten pissed at him?

Bill didn't know how that involved the blood, however. Henry said the clown had been covered in it before entering the auditorium, Bill guessing that's where the ticket seller had gone, for whatever reason... Bill would have guessed that the ticket seller would've been looking for the clown, but Henry said the clown went into the auditorium covered in it and then came back out clean... unless the clown had been in a different place and had gone in there after the ticket seller... he was overthinking this, surely.

Bill bites his lower lip, unsure whether or not if he should feel guilty if he got the ticket seller into trouble and the clown somehow injured. Because maybe the clown had been informed that a kid got hurt while he was in the middle of a performance? Or practicing for one? And ended up injuring himself? Bill grimaces and feels his heart beating strangely again, upset at the idea of it...

He doesn't like seeing the sadness on the clown's face. He has heard of Sad Clowns before, remembers seeing them at a much smaller circus that once came to town, but this isn't just sadness. He can tell. He just knows it. He recognizes the look on the clown's face as utter heartbreak and devastation, depression. He just doesn't understand what could have made the clown so upset, even if it involved the ticket seller... and the way they had spoken to each other made Bill think that they were good friends, but Bill didn't think it was just because of that. He knows there's more to it, something probably personal that he doesn't understand and certainly wouldn't know about, and he wants to be more like Georgie and offer the clown his friendship... he just...

... what does he _say_?

Georgie looks up at him and then back at the clown, smiling knowingly.

"Just say 'hello', no harm ever came from saying 'hello' to someone," Georgie says quietly, though there is no need, as not even his words shake the clown out of his depressive stupor.

Bill stares at that handsome, painted face, a look of indescribable misery in his strange eyes... swallowing thickly, his belly and his chest fluttering with shy little butterflies, his heart beating unsteadily, a strange sense of something familiar tickling his memories, as though he's met this man before, this clown before, Bill opens his mouth and speaks;

"Huh-Hello."

The clown blinks.

Robert blinks.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

Each blink is so slow that Bill might've thought that the clown hadn't heard him, would suppose he was just imagining things, or was so slow in his thoughts that he had yet to even properly register the fact that someone had spoken to him.

Slowly, very slowly, but surely, the clown looks up from the button-eyed doll with Bill's little face and the slashed up book to see the real Bill Denbrough sitting on the swing next to his own and Georgie Denbrough sitting on the smaller swing next to Billy's, swinging merrily. His eyes widen as he realizes that he really is sitting next to Billy... as he stares at the boy's face...

The lights all around them, bright and luminous, a collection of orange, red, blue, yellows, greens, pinks, and all colors, they brighten his curious face, though are quite dull in comparison to the blue of his eyes, the clown personally thinks. His heart starts to beat strangely in his chest as all he can do is stare.

He smells the sweetness of ice cream and can see the vanilla and chocolate swirl stain on Georgie's sleeve, the crumbs of the cone on the corners of his lips, while Bill is holding a strawberry and peanut butter. The clown's mouth suddenly feels very dry, his tongue feeling like lead in his mouth, as his heart starts skipping in its beats, a rather lively thing, before it begins to beat unsteadily again.

Only this time, instead of being in a hunger and rage induced fit, it is because of complete and utter _terror_.

 _Fear_.

Once again he is able to know what they are thinking, know their thoughts before they actually fathom them, and know what they're going to say before they even start to speak. He can sense the sweet, bubbly lightness of Georgie's thoughts, knowing that the boy thought of Robert as one of his "best best" friends, he and Billy the only ones he could call "best best", though Billy still trumped him. He can sense the curiosity sparkling in Billy's thoughts, the shyness and the idea of friendship, as well as the mixture of guilt and concern.

Guilt as though he was somehow responsible for the clown's current situation (Robert wishing he could flinch) and concern for the clown's wellbeing as his mind unwillingly pictures the idea of the clown injured, decorated in blood as Henry (when had Billy spoken with Henry?) had described...

He can also sense the lingering suspicion about what really happened in October, other than Georgie's version of it about how wonderful it was to meet the clown in the storm drain. He knows that Eddie has lingering suspicions about that as well, but it stings a lot more when coming from Billy... Robert has no idea what he's supposed to do.

 _Hello_?

That was _it_?

After _months_ about knowing about the clown's existence, knowing this clown, a grown _man_ , had met his seven-year-old little brother when he was running _alone_ in the streets, had taken something from a _stranger_ , and even after meeting Georgie and Roberta, after meeting _her_ in the kitchen and getting food in his belly (rather than becoming food in her belly, Robert thinks grimly), and not getting kicked out of the circus because of Connor Bowers, after everything, all Robert got was a simple _hello_?

The clown stares at him with wide eyes, his mind unable to comprehend what he was seeing and hearing and Bill's own eyes widen as he swallows, smiling at the clown in a way that he doesn't have to know the boy's thoughts to know he's just as shy and nervous, skittish and hesitant, as the clown. His painted lips part as he feels something akin to a butterfly's wings and little legs tickling his skin, brushing the flesh with the tips of such delicacy and daintiness, rather than feeling as though spiders were crawling along his arms, leaving behind goosebumps in their path.

He has become so familiar with that creeping, crawling sensation, having become fond of arachnids over the many, many years he's been alive... or at least existed... this version of him, that is... having become fond of the little creatures, their form so close to his own true one, and he never thought he could hate butterflies so much and even dread the idea of moths...

He knew what Freddy had meant by that, about Robert being _lucky_ to get that sort of ending.

"Oh..." Robert says shyly, looking awkwardly away as he lowers his eyes, though they remain wide open, "... hello..."

Georgie beams up at the clown and Robert feels even more uncomfortable as well as confused beyond reason. A simple "hello" and the boy was over the moon about it, looking at the clown as though his face was the one _in_ the moon, and even Billy was offering him a smile just as shy but as hopeful as his own...

He knows Billy's question before the boy asks it...

"Huh-How c-cuh-come y-you're s-sitting here all al-luh-lone?" he asks, his curiosity (the damnable, deadly thing) triumphing over his shyness, though there is a definite flush in his cheeks, a pinkness forming on them.

The clown isn't the only one who can't stop staring.

"And why do you look so sad?" Georgie asks, "Circuses are supposed to be happy places."

The words have reminded both the clown and Billy of Georgie and Roberta, both of whom took off before Robert could actually grab them, not that anybody notices, though he was certain Billy had noticed the lengthening of his arms... They were teasing him with the fact that they could pop in and out of worlds like that and he couldn't. Not maliciously, only childishly, and a pang hits him in his heart, the feeling quite familiar to being _stabbed_ , and his loathing for Mike deepens, though he knows he cannot bear this world's Mike any ill will. He has yet to do anything of the sort, after all, and Robert has no intention of standing idly by and letting it happen...

... _again_...

Not that that first time had been of his own free will, of course.

His eyebrows knit together, confusion bubbling in his own thoughts, as he realizes that Billy is thinking about the ticket seller -- Freddy(the clown realizing none of them know his name is actually Freddy, that he really _is_ that guy) -- and his fingers twitch with upset as he smells the freshness of a flesh wound, the freshness of opened skin and the sweet richness of blood, Billy's blood, no less, though he can also smell the sharp stink of antibiotics and obviously gauze and he knows the bleeding had been stopped before it was even bandaged. Just as he now knows the bathroom was purposefully cleaned with lemon scented cleaner to block out the _smell_.

He knows the nurse cleaned up Billy for the clown as much as it was for Billy, though the clown figures she was more worried about Billy getting killed by the clown if he went into a frenzy...

... _again_...

Though, the clown's confusion comes from the fact that Billy is worried about having gotten the ticket seller -- Freddy - into trouble, and potentially having caused the clown to injure himself, his brain making him the bad guy in every possible scenario, and yet Bill is afraid, and confused and unsure, as to whether or not it really was an accident even though the ticket seller -- Freddy -- really had seemed to upset... The poor boy has no idea what a damn good actor Freddy really is, Robert thinks darkly.

The boy thinks the clown might've been interrupted during a practice for a performance, and injured himself. That's the thought he conjures up. He can't say Billy had nothing to do with him getting injured, but it certainly wasn't his fault. It was Robert's own, he knew.

He doesn't want to think about that anymore, because she's locked away in the dream world, even if it's only temporary, and he has a moment alone with Billy... well... Georgie, too, but still... he just wishes his heart would stop beating so _inconsistently_...

"I, uh," Robert says, clearing his throat awkwardly as he tries to think of something, anything, anything at all, to say even though he knows he doesn't really owe them explanations. Well, Bill, kind of. "Some things had to be... they had to be rearranged."

"Luh-Like the buh-bus?" Bill asks quietly, his guilt gnawing at his insides as he sees the upset look on the faces of multiple kids, though Robert knows he doesn't give two shits about Connor's upset.

Robert flinches from the smell of the boy's guilt, unable to believe he once thought of it as a sweet, flavorful thing alongside the sweet richness of fear. Terror seasons the meat, so wondrously, and guilt, Robert supposes, salts it, enriching the flavor alongside the fear. He's certain he just doesn't like it anymore, or at least as much, because it's Billy who is feeling this emotion, and it's Robert's fault. Not Billy's.

"A-And... uh..." his mind thinks quickly... "well, I had to make room for the... uh... the labyrinth."

Bill's guilt lessens, so does Robert's own.

 _At least it wasn't a lie_ , Robert thinks grimly.

He had planned on adding the labyrinth anyway, ignoring the fact that a few of the kids, namely Eddie, were still curious about how he fit everything into Neibolt's backyard (that answer would come later, he was sure), he just hadn't intended on shutting down the bus. Then again, he guesses Freddy also ran out of ideas on how to scare Connor since the kid actually _enjoyed_ the bus, his lack of Shine making him think it was all just illusions, smoke and mirrors, and the clown barely resists the urge to roll his eyes.

"Luh-Luh-Lab-Lab... Luh-Luh-Luh--" Billy starts to ask before his cheeks darken, pink becoming red, but with embarrassment. Robert offers him a smile, his own being feeling strangely warm rather than his familiar cold, when he senses the other reason Billy is now blushing. He nods and Billy sighs, grateful.

"Where'd the ticket seller go?" Georgie asks, Billy having thought that same question.

"Home," Robert says, technically speaking the truth as the dream world has been Freddy's home for a long time, the clown knowing that Freddy found it a better home than the many he grew up in. Even when he wasn't scaring the shit out of teenagers before harvesting their souls and growing more powerful with them. "I..." he says quietly, his eyes on the gauze around Billy's wrist. "I wasn't happy to hear you got hurt."

Bill lowers his own eyes, missing what the clown was really saying. The clown would be pissed if it had happened to any other kid, except Connor, Belch, and Vic, Henry was a maybe, but Freddy had purposefully targeted Billy, knowing full well that would piss the clown off the absolute most, and hurting Billy, in Robert's eyes, was unforgivable.

 _I will never forgive you_!

It wasn't just Freddy he could never forgive. Or even her.

"It duh-doesn't huh-hurt anymore," Bill says quietly, the barest trace of a smile forming on his lips. "I've huh-had wuh-worse."

He has no idea the pang the clown feels in his heart, the guilt gnawing at the pit of his belly, quite like his own teeth have done to human flesh and bones before, and only minutes ago. Robert knows he's actually referring to the grocery store, which was far worse than his side, the boy nearly losing his arm (and his life), but that doesn't lessen the clown's guilt. It only strengthens it, as he had brought Freddy into this world _before_ that incident, so maybe he could once again assign the blame to the dream demon, even just for a little while longer. He has a feeling Freddy did purposefully procrastinate, waiting for her to lash out, just to be an asshole.

"Ice cream makes everyone feel better," Georgie says, and Robert can see that he wants another one, blissfully unaware of the fact that not even for a moment had it started to melt. Billy, however, because of Georgie, looks at his own with a questioning look, realizing he's not only neglected it, but that it hasn't melted during that time.

"Did you try any of the Chocolate Frogs? Or the Every Flavor Jelly Beans?" Robert asks, smiling slightly himself as he stares at Georgie's happy little smile, which reminds him so much of the other little Georgie... and Roberta, too. His guilt worsens, his insides seemingly getting stabbed, that pain he is all too familiar with, because of Beverly and Mike (it was the same goddamn piece of fence, he realizes), as he remembers what he did to both Georgie and Billy once before... his little hand snatched up in Robert's larger one... before he... he... he _bit_...

In that moment, that last thought that had ran through his mind... most kids want their moms or their dads... but Georgie... his last word, his last cry for help... the one person in the whole wide world that he wanted more than anyone else...

 _Billy_!

"The Frogs... they've got cards in them. For collecting," the clown says quietly.

"What kind of cards?" Georgie asks curiously, Bill also staring with interest.

"Horror movie characters," Robert says, his lips twitching as he debates between frowning and smiling. "Monsters, heroes, side characters, you name it, it's there. For collecting, you know, there's a whole bunch of them."

Though, his own collection was far greater than anyone else's. Outranking them all, even Richie, who was somewhere in the low hundreds, Frogs not cards, he kept getting the duds, though that was intentional on Robert's part, Eddie concerned he was going to get diabetes or drop over dead, as the ticket seller -- Freddy -- had first suggested. He knows Henry is also collecting them, the boy having often found comfort in horror movies, hence why he hadn't minded talking to Billy about them...

"Thuh-That's c-cool," Bill says, also keen to have a collection of his own, Robert sees. "Wuh-What else w-wuh-wuh-would y-you ruh-ruh-ruh-re --"

He does grimace then as Bill looks away, his cheeks reddening even further, burning with embarrassment. The boy looks away, embarrassed and ashamed.

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about," the clown says sympathetically, though it really has been quite some time since he's heard Billy speak with a stutter, hasn't it? At least, that he can remember. "The zoo is always good. Vitaly and I, we have a big performance planned. I didn't lie when I said we have lions and tigers and bears."

"Really?" Georgie asks excitedly. "And elephants and horses?"

Robert nods.

"I even have a jaguar," he says. "For Beverly."

"R-Ruh-Really?" Bill asks, curious but concerned. "I-Is thuh-that s-suh-safe?"

"Oh, absolutely not," Robert says pleasantly. "Animals aren't meant to be caged, nor used as entertainment. They're not going to attack, unless provoked. Why do you think I won't let Bowers in there?"

Bill's lips twitch as he smiles.

"Buh-Buh-Because huh-he'll p-puh-puh-prov-voke them until th-they att-tack and then c-c-c-cry."

"If by cry you mean whine like a little bitch, then yes," Robert says.

Personally, he wouldn't stop Vitaly from biting the brat's face off if he tried anything, anything at all.

"Does Beverly like jaguars?" Georgie asks, having caught that comment about her.

The clown shrugs, still smiling slightly, though he's good at masking how sad it really is. Mostly, because Bill can see right through it.

"No idea. Beverly hasn't seen her yet. I thought she might like it," Robert says.

That was a lie. He knows Beverly will love Gia and vice versa. Both with equally bubbly, joyful but fiercely protective personalities.

 _Circus stick together_!

His eyes linger on Billy, knowing full well that the boy wants to see the tigers especially. The clown can see flashes of Billy's memories as the boy recalls them, a trip to the zoo when he was just a boy, before Georgie was born. His mom's stomach was round with Georgie at the time, sparkling with his life, and Billy remembers the tigers especially, most fondly. The orange of their fur, the black of their stripes, the white of the chins, the chest, and the paws...

"Do you..." he says hesitantly, dare say nervously, as he awkwardly looks away, "... do you want to see him? Vitaly?"

Bill looks at him curiously as he recalls the mother tiger nursing her cubs at the zoo. He nods, his eyes sparkling with excitement that Robert recalls never seeing before. The boy misses his mom, more and more every day, and that makes the clown want to tear her apart, rip her from limb to limb, bite her arm clean off before dragging her into the storm drain... he's getting flashbacks again, and there are two reasons he doesn't do it. One, the most important one, is because he knows it'll hurt Billy something awful. He longs for his mom, wondering how she could have been so selfish, so cruel, as he fears his dad, and mostly, he just misses his _family_. He has Georgie, not having to live with seeing his room full of his toys, his stuffed animals, and everything Georgie liked... the room and the entire house, the town of Derry, void of Georgie himself.

The second reason, this one the clown is sure he should be concerned about, is the fact that he _can't find her_. He knows he's bound to Derry, more now than ever, his weakened state, even after eating Freddy, keeping him tethered to the little town, but even as he seeks her out through the sewer system, he finds nothing. It's almost as though Sharon Denbrough dropped off the face of the earth, or some other being plucked her up and took off with her to another world, though he knows it wouldn't have been Georgie or Roberta. They never met her, and they don't want to after learning that she ditched Bill and Georgie like that...

Something was amiss, the clown knew, but his focus remained on Billy.

"Vuh-Vuh-Vitaly?" Bill asks curiously, smiling slightly.

Robert's heart beats unsteadily as he recalls that question he had asked, though Billy hadn't heard it, that night after Bill was attacked... twice.

 _Could **I** make **you** smile_?

"That's his name, yes," Robert says, quite preferring Bill's smile to his frowns, his joy to his sadness, his hope to his fear.

"Hey, how come you have a petting zoo, anyway?" Georgie asks curiously, "and so many rides? I thought circuses just had clowns and animals."

"Well," Robert says, shrugging slightly with a smile on his face, "we did only have clowns before, and a few animals. I just... added on."

That wasn't a lie either. Though there was a lot more than what was meeting the eye.

"And what was Cujo supposed to be?" Georgie asks, Robert blinking with surprise at the question.

 _He got out_? The clown can't help but wonder.

He was by no means going to stay in this world, that was for certain, but Robert could compare that particular project to a clean up, now that the toxicity of that world was being cleansed. His parents and herd were still looking for him, now that they were no longer under that asshole's control. The "Upside Down" was being cleaned out, to put it simply. That version of it. There were multiple worlds that could be considered upside down. It was more than just references, Robert was just surprised to see that Cujo had jumped Richie, more surprised by the fact that he got out of the labyrinth...

 _Damn kids_ , he thinks with a fond, paternal smile.

They did that on purpose, he knew, their little painted, grinning faces staring up at him as they darted through the kids, trying to run from him. He can't wait to meet Henrietta... he still wants a puppy, too...

"It fuh-felt s-so r-ruh-real," Bill says, Robert seeing that the boy had met him as well, of course the little jerk having realized Billy was there... though he was confused by the difference in smell.

"That's the point," Robert says, twirling his fingers before pulling out a card, seemingly out of his wrist, making both boy's eyes light up. Georgie's especially. "But not knowing is half the fun, isn't it?"

The meaning behind those words is simple; _I'm not saying. It's no fun if I tell you_. Georgie smiles, understanding, as another question pops into his head despite the fact that he wants to ask "How'd you do that?" when the clown shifts his hand again and the card vanishes.

"Are you staying a long time?" Georgie asks curiously, hopefully.

Bill's eyes flicker, the boy having thought the same question. The amount of fair rides, the largeness of them, makes him think that the clown will be staying for quite some time, since most fairs tend to last a couple of weeks. Circuses typically travel a lot, whether by train or some other mean, never staying in one place for too long. Most people, like Eddie, would inquire about the finances, as well as the space, Robert doesn't have to worry about things like that, but the kids don't need to know that.

"Yes," Robert says, smiling at the happiness that shines in both boys, pleased that the smell wasn't making him hungry. "And to answer your question about the fish tank, they were rescues. They're going to be relocated."

Another truth, though the babies couldn't be saved. Only the parents.

"They're huge, though, where do you get fish that big?" Georgie asks.

Robert just gives him a smile and shakes his head.

"Do..." Bill starts shyly, still staring at the clown, "... do you travel a lot?"

"A little," the clown says, somewhat truthfully, though he hasn't travelled for quite some time. The only real travelling he's done is shifting between worlds, something he was once able to do with relative ease, as he was able to coexist in multiple universes at the same time, though he did keep his limit to Derry, Maine for the longest time. Now he just saw no real reason to leave. "I don't intend to leave for a while," he says, thinking of the end of August and smiling at the happiness that comes from those words, from both Billy and Georgie, "How about you go see Vitaly then? He's in his tent."

Georgie jumps off his swing, but Bill doesn't and instead he finishes his ice cream and the cone, contemplating his next words. Robert blinks with surprise as he knows Bill's question before the boy even speaks, before his mind fully comprehends what he wants to say, a strange fluttering enveloping the void that is the clown's heart.

The damn thing even has the nerve to skip another beat.

"Wuh-Why duh-don't y-you sh-shuh-show us?"

Robert knows it's mostly because Billy wants to get to know him better, because there's still that lingering curiosity, the clown knowing full well that the boy has every intention to interrogate him about October, that one making him smile another sad smile, but Billy... the clown feels, flattered, he would say. He has never done this before, such human interactions seeming so mundane and rather boring if not completely dangerous. Things like this were normal for humans, confusing for creatures such as himself.

He understands that Billy, this Billy, simply wants to get to know him better, considers him a friendly acquaintance, as humans tend to do as they develop friendships and relationships... he knows it's partially because of Georgie and October but he also knows it's because Billy is reminded of something, though he can't quite place it... as though he knows the clown from somewhere but he can't quite remember... the clown personally prefers not to think about those memories, not anymore, but he supposes that Billy wanted to know him, understand him, to some extent, of what Robert can show him without giving himself away, or perhaps making Billy think he was a madman... that makes the clown _happy_.

He can see that Billy wants to make new, better memories. He'll always remember his mom at the zoo fondly, one of the last few good memories he has of her... but he wants knew ones... and Robert can see, deep down, that the boy wants _him_ to be part of that... especially with how happy he makes Georgie...

"All right," the clown says, smiling genuinely. His heart still beating quite unsteadily. "C'mon then."

Georgie, funnily enough, leads the way to the petting zoo, leaving the clown to walk next to Billy. Neither say anything, the clown too ridden with guilt and shyness, feeling like a teenager having a crush for the first time, while Billy is contemplating his next question, equally shy... like a teenager... The clown bites his painted lip as he stops listening... it's a hard thing, full as he was now... so used to being able to perform menial tasks like that...

Simple for him, complex for a human.

"So... uh..." Bill says awkwardly, holding his arm nervously as Georgie skips ahead of the both of them, carrying his own doll and the comic book. Bill sees again that his doll is in the clown's hands, smiling up at him, but then his eyes catch sight of the slashed book. A red cover with gold letters. "Wuh-What's th-thuh-that?"

The clown looks and lowers his eyes again. He hadn't intended on giving Billy the ruined book... he shows it to him, seeing that Bill is upset by the complete disrespect it's faced, the boy thinking that a dog and the ticket seller must've had a brawl over it.

"Your gift," the clown says morosely, "I thought you might like books..." _I know you love books_... _you write the best ones after all_... "So, I... I got you this... the damn glove messed it up..."

Bill takes the book from the clown, much to the latter's surprise, seeing the gold letters on it spelling out two words. He smiles slightly, the barest trace of a grinf orming.

"I suh-saw th-this m-muh-movie," he says. "It huh-had D-Duh-David Buh-Bowie in it."

"It's one of Georgie and Roberta's favorites," the clown says.

He has a fondness for the movie, sad as he was at the ending even though he understood it...

Irony truly does hate him... he fears.

"I duh-didn't knuh-know it wuh-was an actual buh-buh-book," Bill says, smiling an open-mouthed smile as he remembers the scene where Sarah was reciting the lines from it. His fingers trace over the slash marks, his wrist pulsing with pain. He can see that they stretch across the entire cover of it, and a few of the pages are ripped, he sees as he opens it, the entire book honestly looking as though it was chewed on by a dog before the ticket seller yanked it away, most likely unintentionally slashing the cover of it... He can see that the book is old anyway, seeing that some of the pages are dog-eared and yellowing... he doesn't just like it, he _loves_ it. "Thuh-Thank y-you."

Robert stares at him, smiling just the same.

"I can get you another... a newer one and less... mangled."

"Nuh-No," Bill says, holding the book to his chest, still smiling. "I luh-luh-like it. It's guh-good."

Robert continues to stare at him even as he hears the bleating of the sheep, the sound making his heart beat out of fear as phantom pains come back to haunt him... the reminder of how she had tortured him in that alley, forcing him to morph into a sheep before... before she... the tip of her claw... he hears the snorting of the pigs as well as the neighing of the horses, the clucking of chickens, chicks and their mother hen, as well as the cawing of a single rooster. That one, a single rooster and a single hen, but almost too many chicks to count, makes hsi heart sting. He sighs, seeing that Georgie had already run into the petting zoo to join Beverly by the horses, three of which, the triplets, are white as snow, their manes and their tails, but the one nudging Beverly with its snout sticks out the most, because it's own _pure_ white coat makes everything around it seem dull in comparison.

That one is a magnificent steed whereas the other three are beautiful mares, but aside from the rippling muscles and the great height of it, the purity of it is what stands out. It shines and shimmers, almost like a star, and the white of its coat and its mane and tail make every other color around it seem dreadfully dim. Its hooves even appear to glint silver as its eyes, black as opals, stare keenly, tenderly, at Beverly.

Eddie is staring at it suspiciously, as though he expects a horn to pop out of its head, Richie rolling his eyes, and Robert realizes they've all regrouped in the petting zoo. Even Mike, who is shockingly petting the sheep. Georgie is with them, and he can see that Bill is happy to know that fact... Ben is watching Beverly with moony eyes as the horse, Robert know it was indeed missing an appendage on its forehead, is nuzzling her happily, the girl grinning childishly as she pats it on the snout. It makes her happy, because the keeper warned her that the beast was by no means tamed.

Of course it wasn't, and Robert still as the flesh wound in his side, from being impaled, to prove it.

"Duh-Duh-Do... do you huh-have a f-fuh-favorite an-ni-nuh-animal?" Billy asks, seeing the horses and seeing how the three mares, the triplets, were fawning over Georgie.

Robert looks back at him, confused by the question.

"Y-You knuh-know," Bill says, smiling up at him. "Tuh-Tigers? Buh-Buh-Bears? Luh-Lions? S-Something luh-like that? E-E-Everyone huh-has a f-f-fuh-favorite animal."

Robert looks away as he thinks. He's only ever had two, maybe three, favorite things. He's never really understood why humans favor certain things over others, except for film genres. He's always been a fan of horror, often taking inspiration from his fellow horror icons to torment his victims... to season their meat with fear before going in for the kill... he's always favored targeting children over adults, because their Shine is stronger and they taste better, richer and much more pure than adults... he wouldn't say he has a favorite _animal_...

"I guess... I would have to say... spiders?" he says, "Or maybe owls..."

He chuckles at the confused look on Bill's face.

"Luh-Like t-t-tar-rantulas?"

"Yes. And I know, they're the fourth most deadly spider in the world. Tiffany has one though, Charlotte."

"E-E-Eddie wuh-would huh-have a huh-heart attack if he knuh-knew th-that," Bill says, smiling slightly. His eyes flash, a childlike humor sparkling in them like pale jewels. The clown feels those damnable butterflies again, instead of his familiar spiderlike feeling. "I wuh-won't t-t-tell him if you don't."

"Deal."

A flicker of warmth pools in the coldness of the clown's belly, before promptly turning arctic cold at Billy's next words, though he knows that isn't the boy's intention.

"Guh-Georige luh-loves t-turtles," Bill says, still smiling, though he tilts his head, curious, when he sees the clown shake his head.

He still loathes Maturin, and he is certain he always will.

"I'm not a fan of them," Robert admits as he too watches Georgie interact with the horses, Beverly too.

"Huh-How can you nuh-not luh-like t-turtles?" Bill asks. He's certain he's never heard of someone who didn't like turtles before. "Th-They're s-s-s-suh-sweet."

"Not in my experience," the clown says, though Maturin was never actually cruel to him.

They were just too different to see things eye to eye, and he knows she always hated Maturin, calling him an idiot after he died. Taking _delight_ in destroying his creations...

One of the sheep, he sees, is cornering Mike and is chewing at his hair, which still has flecks of cotton candy in it and while Mike is shy, he's still petting it. The clown knows it's mostly because these sheep aren't the ones he has to put down on his grandfather's farm, putting a cold bolt between their eyes and watching as the light leaves the dark orbs instantly. Beverly spots them, still grinning as she waves at Bill.

Ben stares at her with those same moony eyes, though a brief flicker of envy pools inside of him as she waves so happily at Bill. Robert shakes his head as he sees Ben's thoughts of riding off into the sunset on a Unicorn with Beverly. Eddie sighs with relief as he sees that the clown is free of injuries and blood, though the boy keeps a healthy distance.

"Wuh-What duh-does the t-t-tuh-tiger d-duh-do?" Bill asks curiously as Robert leads him to the orange and blue striped tent, lifting the flap for him and letting the boy walk in first.

He knows there's nothing particularly spectacular about Vitaly's tent, other than the tiger's old posters. Only, they're altered to look like a realistic tiger, a massive Siberian, rather than an animated one. Though, Bill's eyes widen at the sight of blades, daggers and axes, a few swords even, lining the walls along with a hoops and rings, a variety of sizes. Robert smiles slightly as the tent flap falls behind him.

"He used to jump the hoops. He retired after an accident on stage. Lit up like the Fourth of July," the clown explains.

"Oh... was he ok-kuh-kay?"

"Yes. It just took a while for his fur to grow back."

"Oh..."

The inside of the tent is illuminated with candles, posters of Vitaly and Circus Zaragoza and old newspaper clippings adorning the walls, somewhat reminding Robert of Ben's bedroom, not that Ben had actually showed the Losers of this world as well as Georgie his bedroom charted with Derry's grim history. The difference between these animals and the "original" Circus Zaragoza is that they were more realistic, less cheerful, as it were. They were more rescues, mostly, simply named after the characters, though Gia's voice always stuck out to Robert.

"Wuh-Where's the t-t-tuh-t --" Bill sighs as he stands next to the clown, turning to look before his eyes seem to pop out of his skull and his heart out of his chest, the air leaving his lungs as he jumps back and grabs onto the clown's arm with one hand, wrapping his smaller one around the limb, and smacking the clown's bicep with his other hand, the clown smiling at the sight.

The boy is mostly in shock, but the clown will take what he can get. At least he didn't take off running, he thinks somewhat pleasantly.

The reason is simple; Bill spotted Vitaly's cushions, as well as Vitaly himself.

The massive tiger stares at the two of them with a curious gaze, his emerald green eyes glittering in the candlelight like the actual gemstones. His claws, black as obsidian, are lightly pulling on the cushion he's reclining on. Even by normal standards of a Siberian tiger, Vitaly is huge, his muscles rippling under his orange fur. The reason for Bill's shock and moment of panic is because there's no handler, and Vitaly isn't in a cage, which means that any time he wanted, he could dart out of the tent and roam freely alongside the horses and the pigs...

The tiger stares at them, his eyes lingering on Bill before settling on the clown. Vitaly's massive head lowers in a respectful bow to the clown.

His fellow predator.

Bill stares, his lips parting with shock, as with both hands, though his book is still in one, he holds onto the clown's arm for dear life, ignoring the fact that it felt cold underneath his fingers and along his arms. There is no leash, no chain, no collar, like a dog would have, and no harness and no handler. Not even a cage. Only him and the clown... and the tiger... He can see the muscles rippling underneath the thick orange fur, the latter looking to be sun kissed despite the jet black stripes adorning its fur and the white decorating its body.

This tiger reminds him of the one he saw with his mom at the zoo, so long ago, but not at the same time. Somehow, in some way, this is more meaningful, as the tiger's piercing green eyes, like two fat emeralds, stare at him.

It gives a low bellow and the clown stares intently at it. Bill stares too, shaking slightly, as he sees it stand up with a slowness that he doesn't understand and he flinches away, hiding further behind the clown, as it approaches, shockingly with a gentleness he wasn't aware a tiger could have... even the mother tiger back at the zoo... he remembers she had cubs...

"He won't hurt you, Billy," the clown says softly, his words having more than one meaning.

 _He'd sooner bite the face off anyone who dared bring you harm_ , the clown knows.

Another pang hits Bill's heart as the tiger's black nose flares, smelling the air. Smelling him.

"He, Billy," Robert says quietly, watching intently.

He knows Vitaly will not strike, not Billy, not any of the kids, except one who purposefully provokes him. His claws may be extended, but his teeth are not bared. He's curious, mostly, about the newcomer with the clown.

Bill gives a jerky nod even as the tiger, Vitaly, stares intently at him. He stands before the clown, before Bill, and waits. He stares as he does.

The eyes of a champion... the eyes of a predator...

Bill lifts a trembling hand from around the clown's arm, the other still holding his book, and with his fingers shaking like the leaves in the fall, the clown watching, Bill places his hand on Vitaly's nose, the tiger allowing it, fingers brushing over the fur on the bridge of it. The tiger makes a low rumbling sound as he pushes his face further into Bill's hand, Bill accepting the fact that this tiger was by far the most magnificent thing he had ever seen.

Robert stares as Vitaly allows himself to be touched, knowing what both the boy and the tiger were thinking. The tiger accepts the boy as the boy accepts the tiger. In the eyes of a tiger, a massive predator, beyond deadly, beyond untamable, a human would be an easy prey. In the eyes of a human, depending on perspective, the tiger was either a beast to be put down or a creature to behold. Robert knew full well which one Bill found Vitaly to be, and his own heart was beating unsteadily as bill's did, though both the heart of the clown and the heart of the boy beat together, the sound quite like the drums of a, dare say, _romantic_ song.

The tiger gives the clown a look of knowing as Bill releases the clown's arm, his other hand hesitantly moving to trail over the tiger's ear, Vitaly giving a low groan of pleasure as he enjoys the gentle touch, Bill being mindful not to accidentally hit him in the head with the book. Bill is scared, yes, but at the same time he knows, in a way he doesn't fully understand, that this tiger will not hurt him.

Bill has no idea if the tiger is fully trained or just isn't hungry or angry right now. The boy thinks that the tiger could either be allowed to wander about on his own, so well trained that he could freely tread around the circus, or perhaps the tiger is just a gentle creature. Unless provoked. The tiger could be wandering about on its own because it good loose, and was a massive, beyond dangerous predator about to strike, or he was simply a magnificent creature. Perhaps both were right, though Robert knew personally that Vitaly's temper could be quite a dangerous thing.

The clown had half a mind to feed Zack Denbrough to Vitaly, though he has an idea that the tiger would snub the idea, mostly because he too loathed the man, but another part of him wants to feed the bastard to the Lickers...

He smirks slightly as he remembers that very moment, wishing it could be so in this world...

 _Why not_?

Bill stares at the tiger.

"R-Ruh-Ruh-Ruh --" Bill grits his teeth, stuttering again, as Vitaly makes another rumbling sound, pushing his massive, furry head farther into Bill's gentle caress. The clown stares, his eyes soft and tender, though calculating at the same time. He knows the boy is swarmed with emotions. The longing for his mother, the sheer shock of this entire moment, the fact that he's petting a fucking _tiger_ like it's a housecat instead of something that could kill him instantly, and he feels _gratitude_. "Th-Th-Th-Th --"

Bill's eyes are stinging as he grows frustrated with his stutter, but they also water because he remembers his mom, remembering how she had been the one to point out the tigers to him, the boy remembering how the cubs, two of them, were playing with their mother. At that time, he had realized the tigress had been staring at his mom, who had been pregnant with Georgie at the time... he had forgotten all about that... he remembers now that his mom had been carrying him around despite him being a bit big for that... and he misses her so much...

At that time, he, even so young, had known the tigress had been watching his mother, not knowing why back then, and it had scared him and he was worried it wanted to hurt her and so he had cried for her to take him away from it. So, she had taken him, with a gentle, patient motherly love, to the smaller animals, the herbivores, and taking him away from the bigger animals, the carnivores. Now he realizes that the tigress had been staring at his mother as her _equal_.

His lip quivers as his heart starts to pound in his chest, the sound like a drum beating. His stomach feels hollow even as Vitaly presses his forehead into Bill's, the fur so soft and so thick, like a fluffy kitten's, beneath his fingertips. It's almost hard to believe the tiger had once lost it all before, Bill wondering how it could have been... he wonders if one of the hoops had been on fire, and guesses that was the case.

He never actually thought... it had just been a suggestion... a hope to see the tigers as he hasn't seen one for about seven years. The ones on the big screen don't count. He might've thought Vitaly would've been in a cage, or maybe even sedated, like in _Manhunter_ , instead of simply roaming freely. He hadn't thought he was actually going to be able to _touch_ the tiger... He was _happy_ , elated even, that this wasn't the case. This moment, he knew he would remember this forever. And he knew, he just knew it, that this memory, this very moment, was one of the best damn things that had ever happened to him and that the clown, Robert, was responsible for it.

He just wished his fucking stutter would stop _ruining_ it.

The clown smiles, a shy but genuine thing, a grateful thing, his own heart pounding in his chest as he sees Bill accepting the tiger for what it was, or what it may very well be. Either a vicious predator, when need be, or a benevolent creature, unless provoked.

"I know," the clown says, not even having to read Bill's thoughts.

Bill smiles as he stares at Vitaly, his eyes pink and glassy again, brimming with tears, rimmed red, as he carefully gets down onto his knees, setting the book next to his knee, and he dares prod at the tiger's lips. Vitaly opens his mouth, just a little, revealing incisors longer than the clown's middle finger. He has no idea that the tiger is smiling at him, mirroring the expression on the clown's face even though it was a real tiger rather than one of the clown's illusions. Bill moves his hand away, though the tiger doesn't stop smiling at him, the boy fully aware that the teeth were capable of ripping the hides off of buffalos... he remembers the zookeeper telling the crowd quite cheerfully despite the fact being quite morbid...

Bill swallows nervously as the clown and the tiger watch the boy press his head to the tiger's chest, his ear right about the beast's heart, his hands wrapping around the thick of the tiger's neck, hugging the creature.

Bill's lips part again as he listens to the tiger's heartbeat, the thick fur tickling his skin, fingers running over the back of Vitaly's neck, blissfully unaware that the tiger's heartbeat matched the clown's. A fast paced thing, perhaps out of nerves, though Bill wouldn't think that a tiger, especially one as massively sized as Vitaly, as beautifully dangerous, muscular and beyond deadly, would have anything to be nervous about. Unless he was imagining it, or confusing it for his own heartbeat.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

Yet between those ba-dumps is the barest trace of a skipped beat.

Multiple beats skip.

Bill laughs slightly, a shaky, watery sound.

"H-Huh-His huh-heartb-uh-buh-beat i-i-is s-suh-so inc-cons-sistent... it's wuh-wuh-weird..." he says, still smiling. "A g-g-guh-good k-kuh-kind."

 _There's a **good** kind of weird_? The clown wonders.

Vitaly makes a rumbling sound once more as he lowers his chin onto Bill's head and Robert cannot help but envy the tiger at the moment. He even as the audacity to stare at the clown as he puts a massive paw, sheathing his claws, onto the boy's back, the tips of them just barely brushing the boy's shoulder but not daring to bring him any harm, and the clown knows it's Vitaly's way of returning the boy's hug.

And mocking the clown.

The clown watches the scene unfold, watching with a mixed sort of awe and envy as a creature as beautiful and deadly as a tiger returns the physical gesture of affection and the acceptance from Bill, a being as meek as prey and yet deadly without realizing it. And the fact that Billy can accept this creature, accept the sheer deadliness, the beautiful danger, of this fantastic beast, accept the very fact that the tiger could easily sink his fangs into the back of his neck and tear his flesh from his bones, or even slash him clean open with his massive claws... and yet love this very moment, love the dangerous beauty, understand that this monstrosity of a being had no intention to harm him, and consider this memory as something beyond good, beyond wonderful, as one of his most beloved, cherished memories, one he never wanted to forget, one he didn't think he _could_ ever forget... despite all the warnings Eddie would surely give him...

Bill loves this moment... He isn't the only one, and Robert doesn't mean Vitaly...

The clown understands the hidden meaning, hope flickering in his starry blue eyes like a dying flame.

The clown's heart skips a beat, as does Bill's.

The clown stares at the boy as he picks up the book, getting onto his own knees next to him and seeing Bill smiling at him, his eyes watery but _happy_.

The clown's eyes stray to the hoops and the rings.

"I hope you can stay long enough to see the next show."

The tiger gives him a knowing look, because earlier the clown had promised himself he wasn't performing another since Bill and Georgie missed the first. Bill beams, his smile more radiant than the sun itself in the clown's opinion. 

"Yuh-Yes. Abs-sol-lu-lutely."

Two hearts skip in their beats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I'll be seeing y'all in the next chapter!  
> \- I can imagine Georgie being the Spongebob to Henry's Squidward lol  
> \- There are so many references in here it's unbelievable lol  
> \- Let me know how it was in the comments below and sorry again if I missed any typos!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Chapter eighteen!  
> \- I want to apologize for the long wait, this one was a little hard to write but I'm definitely coming up with more ideas all while getting stomped on by the foot that is life but enough about that, on with the show!  
> \- I came up with the idea for this chapter's performance from Vitaly, obviously, as well as Alex and Gia from Madagascar 3, and Miss Spink and Miss Forcible, obviously. Though I added that last line of Hamlet's quote that they left out of Coraline. I do have two more ideas for Spink and Forcible's performances for later ;) at least I didn't scar Richie for life(yet)  
> \- Not sure if I'll have any more stories after this one comes to an end, which it probably won't be for a while ;), but I'd love any suggestions for future projects!  
> \- Oh, also, the comic Eddie has is of the "original" Captain Marvel, before they renamed him "Shazam"  
> \- Also a heads up for the mentioning of animal abuse. Circus stick together.  
> \- I tried my hand at haiku. Good? Bad?  
> \- Edit: I started the draft yesterday, the 12th, and posted it today, the 13th. Its starting to get annoying and I don't know why its happening. Oh well.  
> \- Let me know how it was in the comments below!

Vitaly is the first to pull away, mostly because he knows the clown doesn't have the heart to move Bill and as much as Bill really wants to see the next show, the boy knows he's not getting another chance for something like this. No matter how long the circus stays in Derry. Vitaly pulls away, giving out a low bellow before licking Bill's nose, the boy smiling as he wipes the saliva away, before he returns to his cushions, rolling his eyes at the fact that Bill is still smiling and the clown may as well have the moon itself in his eyes... the tiger smirks slightly as the moon disappears, replaced with piercing daggers that are directed at _him_.

Of course, Vitaly is no fool. He knows the clown is the bigger, stronger, far more dangerous predator in the room. Though, the food chain of this world was very well lost at this point. The clown was too soft on the boy, as was the tiger. And clearly the clown hadn't been lying when he said the boy really did _shine_. It wasn't just the clown who could see that, Vitaly and the rest of the animals of Circus Zaragoza could see it, too.

Bill continues staring at the tiger even as Vitaly lies back down onto his cushions, long black claws digging into the soft fabric. He lowers his eyes, Bill, and looks at his hands; his fingertips are still tingling from the softness of Vitaly's fur, the same to be said about his cheek and his ear.

His eyes are still stingy and watery, glassy and tearful, and his nose tingles as he sniffles, that same longing feeling for his mom returning full throttle and at the same time... he feels a strange fluttery feeling in the pit of his belly, as though the teeniest, tiniest little butterflies were flapping their dainty little wings along his insides, their little legs tickling him.

He shyly looks at the clown, who is giving Vitaly an unimpressed look while the tiger simply looks pleasantly amused. Bill never knew tigers could display such emotions, but he knows he will remember this forever. He doesn't think he could forget even if he tried, not that he would ever try, because he loves this moment. Every last part of it. His lips part as he stares at the clown, at Robert, who, like Bill, is still on his knees, right next to the boy.

Who knows what could have happened back in October... Bill wasn't stupid, and he knew he would forever regret not going with Georgie. He knows his little brother could have gotten hurt or worse and Bill would be none the wiser about it, Georgie facing a fate Bill didn't want to think about, not when it involved his little brother, but Robert had been there, hadn't he? Storm drain or not... and Robert, to Bill, to his friends, to Bill's little brother, was _kind_.

He was something _good_. Finding an adult in Derry who was genuinely kind was like trying to fight hay in a stack of needles. The reason Bill thought of it that way instead of the other way around was simple; adults in Derry were so cruel. Bowers' dad was was a _police officer_ , his own dad was a bastard and his mom had just abandoned him and Georgie, Richard Macklin was surely abusive to Ed and Dorsey, Bill wishing Georgie hadn't known about the incident with a _hammer_ , and God only knew what else there was...

His point was, Robert was kind and a good person, surely. Bill didn't know him that well, but finding an adult who could tell the difference between the instigator of a fight and the finisher of a fight was another hard thing to come by. That, and Bill liked his creative insults.

Robert had done something extraordinary just now. By no means what what Bill just did _safe_. Eddie may very well have his head, Bill's and the clown's, if he knew because God knew his mother... or even his dad... Bill thinks a grim thought;

 _Not like they care_... _**her** especially_...

He blinks away the tears and shakes those thoughts away. The point was, Robert was his _friend_. He had never actually thought that he would be able to _touch_ the tiger, almost as though that moment had been taken right out of the scene from _Manhunter_ , or maybe some other movie Bill had yet to see, and he certainly hadn't expected to see all kinds of blades, swords and daggers, lining the walls along with the hoops, just as he hadn't expected the tiger to not be in a cage, and to be so close to the petting zoo with all the other smaller animals, the herbivores. The _prey_.

Yet his skin still tingles quite pleasantly as he forever embeds the memory of touching Vitaly's soft fur in his mind, holding these memories close to his heart and promising himself he would never forget it even when he grew old and gray.

Honestly, how could he forget something so _wonderful_?

"Ruh-Ruh-Ruh-Rob-b-b-bert," Bill says, his cheeks turning red with embarrassment and frustration as he struggles to speak the clown's name, his frustration making him trying to force it out.

The clown's starry blue eyes, quite like glitter, glance in his direction. Bill's knees quiver as he watches a smile form on red painted lips, his heart leaping in his chest, seemingly going up into his throat as his tongue suddenly feels heavy in his mouth. Bill swallows, a task he finds incredibly difficult, and he can't help but wonder why he's acting so awkward... all he wants to do is _thank_ the clown...

 _Actions speak louder than words_.

The clown tilts his head, a curious thing, quite like a cat wondering what on earth it was staring at, and Bill hasn't a clue that his own jumbled thoughts, running faster than his brain could comprehend, were confusing the clown...

Maybe it was impulsive or maybe just plain weird, because he really has technically only "known" the clown for one day... but in just one day, the clown had given him something unlike any other. It wasn't the same as seeing an animal, miserable and caged, in a zoo. Vitaly looked to be quite content where he was at, and far from miserable and obviously he wasn't caged. Bill had asked for what had seemed like a small view, and Robert had given him a whole _world_.

But Bill _liked_ the clown and he wanted to thank him, so if he couldn't do it in words... Bill swallows nervously, rubbing his arm awkwardly.

His face burning, his fingers fumbling, he shyly extends his arms out and wraps them around Robert's neck, pulling the taller man down to him while silently cursing his own shortness, and Bill hugs him.

Time seemed to slow, though both Robert and Bill knew it had not. Even as his gloved fingers released Bill's book, the pages slipping away like sand through the hourglass, as it slowly descended to the floor, Vitaly watching with a soft expression in his gemlike eyes. Though, even the tiger seemed to melt away from reality, as the clown's focus was solely on Bill...

The book thuds to the ground, clattering on its corners and then its spine before falling onto its back. The sound is miles away, for both the boy and the clown.

Bill tries not to shiver from the sheer _coldness_ of Robert's skin, of what his fingers and even his arms touch, the starched ruff around the clown's neck feeling like silk against his flesh, while the clown enjoys the absolute _warmth_ of Bill's touch. He enjoys the sweet smell of popcorn, the salty sweetness of it, the smell of strawberries and peanut butter from the ice cream, as well as that lingering smell of ink and paper, a pen and a notebook, Bill's natural scent along with that warm, fleshiness, the clown realizing that Bill was missing that metallic scent of a _typewriter_.

That was weird. Robert thought Bill had one. He thought his parents had given him one... unless things were different in this world, but why would they be? Where had it gone or had his parents just never given him one?

Well, there that other scent he was missing, but Robert wasn't getting into that...

Bill trembles as he hides his reddening face in the clown's neck, his nose brushing over cold skin, and he smells the sweetness of cotton candy, the rank of hotdogs, the saltiness of peanuts, but most of all, the sweet buttery goodness of popcorn. He remembers Georgie telling him that the clown's favorite was popcorn, just like him. But there's something else, something...

 _Strong_ would be a good word to use, because Bill can't quite place it. Something was _cold_ to it, like the first frost of winter, but there was something underneath that... and weird as it may be (Bill preferring to think it a _good_ kind of weird) it brings him comfort and makes him feel... he feels...

His cheek and chin are being tickled by the soft fabric of the neck ruff, the fluttering of butterfly wings increasing as Bill feels long arms, just as cold as the clown's skin but the fabric just as soft as the ruff, wrapping around his smaller form, _hugging him back_.

That feeling, whatever it is, strengthens significantly. Bill feels something, more than just comfortable and comforted. The clown's hugs might be cold, but damn if they aren't really nice. Bill smiles slightly, his eyes feeling watery and stingy once more. One day or not, Robert wasn't like other people. Not like most people.

 _His hugs are warm_ , Robert thinks pleasantly as his shocked stupor fades. He can see the shyness, the awkwardness, of Bill's thoughts, just as he can see what Bill thinks of him, thinks of Georgie and October, and thinks of the circus despite after only one day, on the opening day no less, Bill is the first kid to get injured. The boy loves it here, loves it more than anything in the world, except Georgie and his friends, and Bill sees him, Robert, the _clown_ , as his _friend_.

A long arm wraps around Bill's waist, the other around his shoulders, a cold but gentle hand cupping the back of his head. Robert lowers his chin onto Bill's shoulder, pressing his cheek against Bill's ear and trying his hardest not to flinch away at the shiver he receives, the shuddering of Bill's smaller form. Yet he smiles, a genuinely happy thing, because he knows Bill is smiling, too. Not only that, but despite his cold touch, Bill isn't pulling away.

Because of him, Bill is smiling.

 _He_ made _Bill_ smile.

Bill wasn't afraid of him, and that thought made the clown both happy and sad. It made him feel happier than he should, he knew, but at the moment, he couldn't find himself caring.

"You're welcome."

Bill pulls his head back as he feels the clown moving, those long arms releasing him and a gloved hand takes hold of his arm, his injured one. The one with the slashes on his bicep and on his wrist. Henry really was right when he said Bill needed to stop getting injured... Gloved fingers brush over the gauze, Bill's belly fluttering strangely at the fact that the clown had the softest expression in his eyes.

"I'm fuh-fine," Bill says, offering him a shy smile.

"It still shouldn't have happened," Robert says softly, his fingers brushing over the back of Bill's hand, tickling his skin.

"It wuh-was an accident," Bill says quietly.

 _No_ , _it wasn't_ , the clown thinks grimly but he doesn't say anything else. He simply makes a sound of acknowledgement as he brushes his fingertips over the back of Bill's fingers, the boy strangely enjoying the gentle touch.

Bill frowns slightly himself.

"Wuh-What ab-buh-bout y-you?"

"What about me?" the clown asks quietly, taking hold of Bill's hand and brushing his thumb over the boy's knuckles, his other arm moving to hold Bill's waist again, his fingers mindful of Bill's right hip...

"H-Huh-H-Henry s-said y-you w-wuh-were c-covered in b-b-bluh-blood," Bill says, staring up at the clown's handsome face. "A-And th-that y-you were r-ruh-really m-muh-mad."

"Would you believe me if I said I fell down the stairs?" the clown asks quietly.

"Nuh-No," Bill says.

"I got hurt," Robert says softly, his eyes growing sad again because before now, she would have never have done those things. Not to _him_ , at the very least.

"I fuh-figured th-that," Bill says quietly, Robert chuckling softly.

"I was already injured before I found out. It looked worse than it really was."

"B-Buh-But are _y-you_ ok-kay?"

Robert smiles, a soft and tender thing.

"Yes," he says honestly.

Mostly because Bill makes him feel better, and he knows Freddy is going to last a while, the hunger having died down for right now. He guesses he can go after Connor, even if the brat tastes foul, as well as Belch and Vic, and Butch Bowers. Maybe Alvin Marsh if need be. He'll gladly kill Zack Denbrough, but he doesn't eat junk food.

He wasn't really lying to Bill, not about getting injured, that is. It was the truth, but he didn't think Bill needed to know any more about that. Not right now at least. Then again, Robert still wasn't sure where he was going anymore...

"I was pissed. Accident or not, it shouldn't have happened. I shouldn't have let him have that damn thing in the first place," Robert says quietly, having realized that fact far too late, though he was certain Freddy would have found some other way to make Bill bleed just to set the clown off.

"Wuh-Would y-you r-ruh-react luh-like that f-fuh-for any other k-kuh-kid?" Bill can't help but ask.

Robert shrugs.

"Probably," he says, which is somewhat truthful.

He supposes it just depends on the kid. He guesses he would have ripped Freddy's arm off had it been Georgie, and left him to die rather than kill him himself. Of course, he ignored the disturbing irony of that statement.

"But you're special," he adds.

Bill's cheeks feel warm.

"Wuh-Why's that?"

Robert just gives him a smile.

"Well, only special people get to be 'best best' friends," he says.

Bill smiles as he thinks of Georgie, knowing full well that's there he got it from.

"Yuh-You're s-s-special, t-too," Bill says, "G-Guh-Georgie i-isn't the only wuh-one who thinks s-so."

The tiger stares between them, wishing they would get on with it already. The clown gives him an unimpressed look.

Bill smiles as he gazes about the tent and all of the hoops.

"Huh-Hoops... is huh-he out of r-retirement?"

"No," the clown says, shaking his head. "Nearly ripped my leg off when I had the little hoop too close to him, and that wasn't even intentional."

"Oh my God," Bill says, faintly surprised but not at the same time.

The clown just shrugs, still smiling as he runs his thumb along the backs of Bill's fingers. That was another pair of scars that lingered even though Vitaly wasn't like the Unicorn or even Robert. Only, those were on his inner thigh, two circles shaped like particularly large incisors forever embedded where a femoral artery would be. Vitaly was intelligent, Robert would give him that. The reason he allowed this physical form to retain those scars is out of respect for the tiger. At the time he had received them, he had been weak, and had been unable to get rid of them. Things were different now, but Robert saw it as an insult to rid himself of the tiger's mark.

"S-S-So w-who's p-puh-performing?"

"Me," the clown says, his smile softening. "I, do, of course, need an assistant."

"The j-j-jaguar?"

"Well, Gia would love to do it, but she doesn't want to steal Vitaly's spotlight," Robert says simply, chuckling at the strange look Bill gives him. "Any of the animals would do it, but that's not what I had in mind."

Bill blinks as understanding dawns on him, just as the clown stares pointedly at him. A strange feeling prods him at the mere idea of _joining_ in a show, and yes, absolutely, he would love to assist in one of the circus's performances but... Bill thought one of the animals would simply be jumping the hoops, so why would the clown need an assistant for that if he was able to be in the same room with a tiger that nearly ripped his leg off?

"Trust me, there's a lot more to hoops than just jumping," Robert says, still smiling pleasantly.

Bill bites his lip, debating. More than just jumping through a hoop, but out of all the kids in the circus, Robert wanted _him_ to join the show... unless that was his way of apologizing about Bill getting injured, but Bill didn't think that was the case. At least, not the entirety of it.

"D-Duh-Do y-you d-do this w-with all the k-kids who s-see your sh-shows?"

"Just the special ones."

Bill laughs softly.

"I w-wuh-want to," he says honestly. "B-Buh-But w-wuh-what do you m-muh-mean? That the ani-muh-mals don't want to s-steal his sp-spuh-spotlight?"

"Exactly that. They either share the show or don't perform at all. They're loyal like that," Robert says, smiling a rather strange smile. His eyes seemed to _shine_ as he spoke, an absolute love in his voice, and Bill's knees quiver again. "Animals are better friends than people, I've come to learn."

"I wuh-wouldn't knuh-know about that," Bill says, shrugging. "I've g-guh-got guh-good f-fuh-friends."

"Yeah," Robert says, smiling slightly, a fond thing that Bill finds strangely endearing. "I've just always had a fondness for predator animals." He sighs softly, closing his eyes as he remembers; "I found them, the animals of Circus Zaragoza," _This version_ , he thinks grimly. Not everything was cupcakes and rainbows, like the "originals". "They were being beaten, abused. When the dogs didn't dance, they were kicked. Punted like footballs. When the tiger didn't jump the hoops... whacking a stick on a cage's bars is cruel enough... the sound alone would set him off... making _elephants_ balance on tiny balls... using riding crops on the triplets, the horses... I don't even want to talk about Sonya."

Bill frowns slightly, looking back at Vitaly, who is glowering at his claws as he too remembers those times. The times before the clown came along. Vitaly bares his teeth as the sound of a metal stick clanking against the bars of his cage echoes in his ears, each muscle tensing with each rhythmic tapping sound...

Vitaly knows that was part of the reason why the clown had lasted so long... why after so many trips around the "Macroverse", seeking out resurrection spells, didn't rip him apart at the seams... a grim satisfaction pulses through the tiger as he remembers the screaming of the owners, Gia and the rest of his circus behind him as he lashed out at the clown before coming to their understanding.

Mutual trust, and respect. Something Bill could now understand that Robert, the clown, held for the animals of his circus. Vitaly most of all.

"Vitaly always lashed out whenever the previous owners abused the other animals," Robert continues, this Circus Zaragoza so much different. "They look up to him, because he protects them," he smiles at the phrase as he speaks it, "'Circus stick together'," before he frowns again. "Animals aren't meant to be in boxes, caged up and chained. I know people can be _awful_ , and after a while you develop an aversion, a hatred, for them. Sometimes some people develop a fondness for animals, or they have friends to fall back on. Others aren't so lucky."

Bill stares at him. He knows the feeling, somewhat, though he has Richie, Eddie, and Stan, now Mike, Ben, and Beverly. He wonders if this means Robert has no one to fall back on, except maybe the people in this circus, the little men and women, as well as the animals in this circus. It reminds him of Henry, who has nobody at all. Does that mean Robert has no one else either? He and the ticket seller had seemed friendly to one another, but he'd said that the ticket seller went "home" so did that mean all he had were the animals and the little men and women? Were they also rescues? He had said that about the fish...

Bill continues to stare.

"I wuh-want to huh-help w-wuh-with y-your p-p-puh-puh-performance," he says quietly, smiling and beaming as the clown smiles back at him, Bill wondering what the mischievous glint in the starry blue of Robert's eyes meant. "Y-You're s-s-special, t-too."

He smiles as the clown does, Robert helping him to stand, still holding his waist and his hand. The moment is warm and comfortable, the tent illuminated by the soft, warm light of the candles... Bill lowers his eyes, his cheeks burning, and the clown simply let go of his hand and waist, bending down to retrieve the book.

He gives it back to Bill, his own metaphorical butterflies tickling him. Over billions of years old, kind of, and still acting like a teenager with his first crush. Bill smiles as he takes back his book, the boy holding it to his chest with both arms.

"No spoiling anything for Eddie," Robert says, smiling pleasantly, "Vitaly especially, I want to see the look on his face when he sees him."

Bill smiles and nods as he exits the tent, Robert holding the flap open for him. As the tent flap falls back down behind him, he can hear Robert speaking to Vitaly, as though the man honestly thinks he can communicate with the animals verbally, or maybe he just has special abilities, such as empathy, that Bill doesn't know about.

"Why you looking at me like that?"

Bill blinks, his lip quirking with confusion, when he hears another voice respond... a thick accented voice, was that Russian? It was gruff and deep sounding despite the evident amusement in _his_ voice despite the fact that there had only been two people in the tent, and the tiger.

"Nothing, _Lunnyye glaza_."

"Shut up."

Bill shakes his head as he thinks about Robert, the clown, and what he just learned. Perhaps it is girlish of him, but he feels fluttery and happy, his eyes much alike a pale but bright moon as he gazes thoughtlessly about the petting zoo, holding his book to his chest with both arms still. He can see that Beverly is still petting the massive stallion while Ben watches, Georgie being tickled by the snouts of all three mares while he plays with a little piglet which is snorting happily, Mike is chasing after a sheep for his football while Richie and Eddie are sitting on a bench next to each other. Bill doesn't have to wonder where Stan is, he thinks with a smile.

Richie is reading a comic book titled _Stranger Things_ , something Bill's never even heard of, while Eddie is fanning himself off with a _Captain Marvel_ comic book. The latter, of course, looks impossibly grumpy, so Bill heads in their direction, still smiling a dopey sort of smile, a dreamy sort of thing. He nearly glides as he walks in their direction, as though he's walking on air. Everything feels like he's floating, like he's riding a cloud through the sky.

He has the same sort of smile that Richie almost always has whenever he's teasing Eddie, the same exact smile Ben currently has on his face while watching Beverly enjoy the soft touch of the stallion. It strikes Bill then just how much the stallion reminds him of Vitaly; definitely dangerous, definitely bigger than normal standards, but definitely one of the most beautiful things the human eye would ever see.

But it wasn't just Vitaly or even the stallion that intrigued Bill so much about this circus. Not even the fact that Neibolt was surely not big enough to contain everything this circus did... Bill knew that the animals in the petting zoo were beyond happy where they were at, looking well fed and watered, roaming around freely, and simply enjoying the company of the kids that were currently here. He knew for certain, without even having asked, that none of these animals would be here if it wasn't for Robert.

The thing was, nothing ever happened in the little town of Derry. Nothing good, that is. And for Bill, well, bad things seemed to be a lot more common for him these days. Whether it was having his mom walk out on his family, have his dad become a jerk to him, physically so, or even having unrealistic, unhealthy nightmares about Patrick Hockstetter or angry, screaming shadows with buttons for eyes, and for whatever reason, seeing another Robert who also had buttons for eyes, or even getting bullied by Bowers and his goons, and now Bowers' cousin but _not_ Bowers, unless it was a temporary thing, or something else particularly shitty.

Robert was still a stranger to Bill, strange in almost every sense of the word because most often the adults in Derry were neglectful or abusive or overbearing, and no one had ever been so kind to him before. And nobody was certainly as strong an animal lover as Robert was, certainly not Patrick, Bill thought grimly.

But the most prime examples of bad adults were Dorsey and Ed's stepdad before he had left as well as their mom because surely she had to know that her boys were being abused, Bill's own father as well as his mother, Eddie's mother, and surely more cases than Bill knew about.

But having stepped into this circus, finally meeting the clown, it was like stepping into a strange new world. Strange because it was so different, but something good. It was like his own, Robert was part of his world now, because it was in the same little town, mostly the same people, but it was better somehow. He _liked_ Robert. He loved Vitaly. He loved this circus.

Bill didn't get his interrogation about October, but he supposes that it can either wait or it doesn't matter anymore. Georgie wasn't hurt, most likely because of the clown, and that was all that matters, though he guesses he should still inquire about the "storm drain" part of it. He can see why Georgie considers the clown his friend, even if they really barely know a thing about him, but Bill knows better now.

He knows for a fact that most people would never show another person, especially a kid like him, even if Robert considered him special, a fully grown tiger which was obviously capable of ripping a person apart in seconds, Robert having faced that personally and somehow living to tell the tale considering Vitaly's size, without the tiger having been sedated or caged.

Bill knew now that Vitaly didn't need it, because the tiger respected and trusted Robert and vice versa. He knew it took someone special to have that kind of a bond with a massively fantastic beast like Vitaly. And the fact remained that Robert was more than just an open-minded character. Anyone else, including Circus Zaragoza's original owners, would have had those animals locked away, caged and chained, and would have been less likely to let some random kid they barely even knew pet the tiger. He knew it was mutual trust and respect between the two, and he guessed the same was to be said about the rest of the animals, and those two things were incredibly hard to come by in Derry.

Trust, and respect.

Bill had his friends and they had him, he would have their backs no matter what, but he... well he... he guessed now that he wanted to be there for Robert, too, even if he was just a kid... he shakes his head as he still smiles that dreamy sort of smile, blissfully unaware of how his eyes have gone all moony-like, glittering like pale jewels as he smiles, quite like a love struck dork.

"Oh, great, some circus," Eddie says grumpily as he continues fanning himself off with his comic, adamantly determined to be as grumpy as possible. He knows for a fact that Stan is planning on having his birthday here. It was coming up, too. "What happened to Bill and the clown?"

"Probably getting it on somewhere," Richie says boredly as he continues reading his comic book that he won playing darts. Of course, he hadn't been able to help himself and had thrown one at Eddie, barely even going two inches near Eddie's shoe, the employee having simply watched with a bored expression on his masculine face, and as an apology, though Richie and Eddie both knew he didn't mean it, Richie had won Eddie the _Captain Marvel_ comic book.

Of course, he can't really make out the words since he's still reading without his glasses... his dad's going to be pissed about having to buy another pair.

Eddie blinks as his mind comprehends what Richie has just said, the dark haired boy turning towards him with his eyes wide and a disturbed look on his face, his lips curved downwards and accenting his cheeks.

He wants to ask, "What the fuck is wrong with you?" or maybe even "Why would you say something like that?" but all that comes out is;

"What?"

Richie just shrugs.

"Don't act like your legs didn't turn into jelly when you saw the clown's hot face," Richie says, smiling at the annoyed look Eddie gives him, because he still hasn't let Eddie live that down, "and don't act like you didn't see Bill's do the same thing. And his eyes went all moony-like."

Eddie gives him an unimpressed stare.

"Moony-like?" he asks, his tone a mixture of unimpressed, annoyed, and bored all in one.

"Yeah, you know, that same look Ben has right now that's pissing off Beverly's stud," Richie says, shrugging again as he continues reading his comic book, seeing the intricately detailed artwork of the "Demogorgon", the one in the book much larger than the little "animatronic" freak of nature that had attacked him in the house, though it was beyond him why anyone, even "Mr. Gray" or Bob the Dancing Clown, would have an animatronic "Demogorgon" for a house pet, especially if he had two small children running around. "He seems to think Beverly holds the moon in the palm of her hand."

Eddie rolls his eyes and then sighs with relief as Bill approaches. Of course, he can't help but notice that Bill doesn't look at all... like he was doing what Richie had suggested. Then again, the strange look on his face, one Eddie has never seen before, all dreamy and "moony-like" isn't really helping his case, and Richie even nudges Eddie with his elbow, pointedly looking at Bill.

"Stop," Eddie whispers, shaking his head.

"Huh-Hey," Bill says, smiling at them as Richie closes his comic.

Richie sees that the dopey smile is still on Bill's face, and he wonders who can look dopier. Ben or Bill. He then takes notice of the little red book in Bill's hands, held to his chest with both arms like he's a giggling, daydreaming schoolgirl, though Bill isn't giggling (right now anyway) and then he looks back at the dreamy smile on Bill's face. He puts two and two together easily, especially since that moony-eyed look about him stays.

"Out of all of the prizes in this whole circus," Richie says, setting his comic on his lap, "between chocolate and toys, actions figures and plush ones, videogames and movies, he gives you a _book_?"

Bill just shrugs, still smiling, because Richie wouldn't understand. Bill has always loved books, has always loved reading. Each book was an entrance to a whole new world, whether it was fantasy or horror, adventure or something else. Eddie's eyes fall onto it, the dark orbs widening instantly.

"What the fuck happened to it? Did the ticket seller get into a fight with a dog over it or something?" he asks.

"Suh-Something luh-luh-like th-that," Bill says, having thought the same thing. Robert had said the "damn glove" had messed it up, which meant the ticket seller must've been involved, and now Bill guessed he had gotten into a fight over the book with one of the dogs. He sits by Eddie, still smiling that same awestruck smile as Richie starts to stare at him suspiciously, eyeing Bill thoughtfully as Eddie's eyes fall onto the gauze around Bill's wrist and they narrow. "Are y-you guh-guys guh-going to -- Huh-Hey!"

Eddie grabs his hand, of course he's mindful not to yank, but he stares suspiciously at the gauze and then Bill.

"What happened?" he demands, the soft but stern look on his face reminding Bill painfully of his own mother. The sternness was because she had been protective over him whenever Bowers and his goons would beat him up and he would come home, bruised and scratched, scraped and bloodied, and teary-eyed. The softness was because she was gentle with him, motherly, as she tended to him and cheered him up as she made him feel better. Eddie is just a mother hen like that, Bill supposes. "And don't you dare lie."

Bill sighs through his nose even as he smiles, grateful for the friends he has.

"I'm fuh-fine E-E-Eds," he says quietly even as Eddie gives him a disbelieving look. "I juh-just huh-had an accident."

"Is that why the clown was all pissy earlier?" Richie asks. "Looking ready to commit murder? And if I had to guess, I'd say you shook the wrong hand to be shaking with the Freddy Krueger rip-off?"

"Yuh-Yeah," Bill says quietly, flinching again at the idea of having upset Robert.

"Then what the hell happened to the clown? He was all covered in blood before he even went into the auditorium, mind you, having nearly broken the damn doors like they were wood instead of metal," Eddie says.

"Huh-He s-said huh-he was injured before he f-fuh-found out ab-bout the t-ticket s-suh-seller," Bill says quietly.

"Yeah but _how_ did he get injured?" Eddie asks.

Bill blinks as he realizes... Robert had purposefully dodged that one.

"Sonuvabitch," Bill mutters, knowing he wasn't wrong about this. "Huh-He d-didn't s-suh-say."

"Probably fucked up during the middle of a performance practice," Richie says. "Who gives a shit?"

"You saw how much blood there was!" Eddie says through gritted teeth, Bill looking between them with an upset look on his face. "He looked like he got stabbed in both of his sides and in both of his hands! What performance practice can cause _that_?"

 _That bad_? Bill can't help but wonder, now regretting not having asked outright. He doesn't like the idea of Robert getting hurt, he wouldn't like the idea of anyone getting hurt but Robert is his friend...

"Was he still injured?" Eddie demands, turning back to Bill.

"I duh-don't th-think so," Bill says. "I muh-mean. He didn't have anym-muh-more b-bluh-blood on huh-him."

"See, your clown boyfriend is fine, Eddie," Richie says and Eddie scowls viciously at him.

Bill shakes his head at their antics.

"Well, where'd the ticket seller go? 'Cause nobody's seen the guy since he went into the auditorium," Eddie says.

"Huh-He s-s-said huh-he w-wuh-went home," Bill says, shrugging slightly. "A-And that huh-he was g-guh-getting rid of the buh-buh-bus anyw-wuh-way."

"Good riddance," Eddie says, Richie nodding in agreement. Eddie turns back to him, a softness in his eyes, "But are _you_ okay?"

Bill smiles, a warm, genuine thing. A flattered thing.

"I'm fuh-fine, E-Eddie," he says.

"Still... not sure how the fuck he even fits everything in here," Eddie grumbles as he lets go of Bill's wrist. "I mean --"

"Don't start," Richie says, mock pleadingly, grinning as Eddie glares at him, Bill smiling at the two of them.

"Y-You guh-going to suh-see the nuh-next shuh-show?" Bill asks again, this time without being interrupted.

Of course, he also wants to see the look on Eddie's face when he sees Vitaly.

"I guess so," Eddie says, shrugging. "Any idea what it's supposed to be?"

"Nuh-No clue," Bill says easily, but not quickly. "Y-Y-You guh-guys enj-joying the c-circus?"

"They have comic books and free food and offer free dinners. And cards of horror movie monsters for collecting. That's good enough for me," Richie says. "And now that that bus is gone, it should be slightly less horrifying."

Bill shakes his head as the kids start leaving the petting zoo, though the massive stallion tries to follow Beverly and whinnies angrily at Ben when he gets too close, rearing his head back and acting as though he's going to impale him with a horn on his head, though there isn't one.

"I don't know," Eddie says, shrugging. "The comics are cool, but don't you think there's something a little... _off_ , about this place?"

"Luh-Like wuh-what?" Bill asks, surprised.

"Well, landscaping for starters," Eddie says. "And all the health code violations --"

"Ohmygod," Richie groans, smacking Eddie with his comic book.

"Wuh-What v-vuh-vuh-viol-luh-lations?" Bill asks, "Juh-Just c-c-cause he wuh-was injured d-duh-doesn't muh-mean anything's w-wruh-wrong, d-duh-does it?"

"I guess not," Eddie says, "but letting animals roam around freely? I mean, that rooster could kill somebody if he felt like it."

"Th-They're c-cool," Bill says, smiling as the piglet tries to follow Georgie around. "I l-luh-like them."

"You haven't even... what's in that tent, anyway?" Eddie asks, eyeing it suspiciously.

"The best thing ever," Bill says simply.

Richie and Eddie share a look as that dreamlike, dopey expression returns to Bill's face.

 _Moony-like_ , both Eddie and Richie think at the exact same time without even realizing it. _He didn't even stutter_ , is their shared afterthought.

"I'm going to get us good seats," Eddie says, brushing himself off as he stands and joins the group, leaving Bill and Richie at the bench.

Because of this, Richie sets his comic book back down onto his lap and pierces Bill with a stare that makes him feel like he's being X-rayed even though Richie doesn't have his glasses on.

"Wuh-What?"

"You like him," Richie says, not asking. "Bobby the clown."

Bill's cheeks burn, turning pink. He smiles.

"Huh-He's nuh-nice. Huh-He d-d-def-fuh-fended Buh-Buh-Beverly," Bill says. "A-And y-you d-duh-didn't s-suh-see wuh-what wuh-was in that t-tent. A-And duh-don't call him B-B-Buh-Bobby."

"Right," Richie says, "that's all it is. What was it the guy said? Oh, yeah; 'Anyone who isn't Billy Denbrough who calls Mr. Gray 'Bob' is going to regret it'." Richie stares at him, "I'm starting to think you and Georgie are his favorites."

Bill blinks and simply shrugs as he looks away, his cheeks feeling incredibly hot. Richie isn't mocking him, which is shocking enough, teasing Bill like he would and does to Eddie, like he already had when Eddie had accidentally revealed that he found the clown hot... which... now that Bill was thinking about it, and couldn't stop thinking about it... Eddie wasn't exactly _wrong_... but... who else had said that? That Bill was the clown's favorite?

He's no longer in the circus. Instead he's in a dirty street in the middle of the night, soaked to the bone and his pajamas clinging to his skin... He's fighting for his life as Patrick grinning face looms over him, the older boy holding him down and _groping_ him... Bill feels sick as Patrick's words echo in Bill's head, though now sounding so far away, as though Patrick had been at the other end of a long, dark tunnel rather than just above him...

... _on top of him_...

 _I mean_... _I always thought you were cute_... _a little **slut**_... _but when I heard her say you're his **favorite**_...

Bill swallows as his eyes widen, his pupils contracting as he starts to shake, unaware of the fact that Richie was snapping his fingers inches away from Bill's nose, calling his name. Bill's lips part was he began trembling, that same wiggling disturbed feeling erupting deep inside of him... unpleasant... something was _wrong_...

There was something wrong... Patrick had never... Bill didn't think Patrick had even gotten a doll... and that nightmare came long _before_ Bill had even met Robert...

 _Guess you're only for the clown_ , _huh_ , _Billy Boy_?

Bill lowers his eyes as he starts to frown.

Patrick had never even met the clown, had he? Bill didn't think he had a doll... but that was just a nightmare, wasn't it? As far as Bill knew, Robert had never met Patrick, at least not that he was aware of, and Bill hadn't met him either around the time of his nightmare... though... it was after the nightmare that Bill had gotten his doll... It's not like Patrick could have known, could he?

Well, everyone knew Georgie was the first person to get his doll... so maybe that's what his dream had made up in his mind... though it still explained nothing else... and it had felt so vivid...

"Hey, Bill, the clown's naked!" Richie says in his ear, Bill jerking with shock at the close proximity, the fact that he can feel Richie's breath on his face -- another thing that makes him think of Patrick, _awfully_ \-- and nearly falling off the bench to scramble away. Richie stares at him, surprised at the reaction as Bill stares at him, his eyes wide with what even his blurry vision knows is true _terror_. "It was just a joke, dude."

"D-Duh-Don't ever _f-fuh-fucking_ do that again!" Bill snaps, Richie flinching and blinking with shock.

"Well, jeez, you must either like the guy or are do you agree that he's kind of creepy?" Richie asks, trying to not feel hurt and instead focusing on his concern.

Since when the hell does Bill swear?

"Wuh-What?" Bill asks, shaking his head as the memories of the nightmares start to fade away again, and he's honestly tired of the fact that they pop up at the worst possible time. Patrick is missing, which in Derry translates to gone forever. _Dead_. He shouldn't still be reacting like this, it was just a dumb fucking nightmare anyway... "N-No..."

"First one then," Richie says, having slightly hoped that it was the second one. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fuh-fine," Bill says quickly, sighing when Richie stares at him, unimpressed, almost giving Eddie a run for his money. "It's nuh-not the c-clown. Nuh-Not ruh-really."

Richie looks at him, up and down. He's dumb, not stupid. There _was_ a difference. It has to have something to do with the clown, because Bill only reacted that way after Richie made that comment about Bill being his favorite... unless Bill had endured some kind of bullying, from Connor probably, which made sense... more than what Connor had commented about when Bill caught up with them, though Richie hadn't heard anything before that... unless Connor had gotten to him again...

"Something's bothering you," Richie says quietly, making Bill frown as the redhead's eyes start to sting and water again. He hates letting people see it. "I... back when we met Mike, well, before we met him, after you all played _Nightmare on Elm Street_ in Beverly's bathroom --" Bill rolls his eyes, "-- you looked really fucked up, dude. All I did was call you Billy Boy, and you looked like you saw your worse nightmare."

"I said I'm fuh-fine," Bill says snappishly.

He regrets it instantly because of the stung expression that crosses Richie's face.

He's never _snapped_ at Richie before. He, like the rest of the Losers, namely Eddie and Stan, have always said, "Shut up, Richie" or "Beep, beep, Richie" after he said something stupid. None of them, not even Eddie and certainly not Bill, have ever _snapped_ at Richie before. Certainly not twice. Bill looks away, regretful.

"Suh-Sorry."

Richie just shrugs it off.

"If you say so. I don't buy it, that you're fine, but if you don't want to talk about it then that's fine," Richie says, but the look he gives Bill is gentle, a look Bill has never really seen Richie have before, except for when they first technically "met" after Bowers had beat the crap out of Bill and five minutes later, after Richie was sure Bowers had gone, Richie, with a little bit of tape holding his broken glasses together, had loudly and boastfully introduced himself to Bill and had helped him up, telling him that they were in the same league since Bowers liked to beat the crap out of both of them, so that meant they were friends. That friendship had lasted ever since. Richie was the first friend Bill had ever had, after all, before even Stan and Eddie. Before even Georgie. "You know if you ever need anything, you can crash at my place if it's your dad, right?"

Bill's lips twitch as he starts to smile. He knows he's lucky to have the friend he does.

"Yuh-Yeah, yuh-yeah, I know."

"This tent stinks," Eddie complains as soon as they start to take their seats.

"You stink worse," Richie says.

"I do not," Eddie says snippily.

"You were in a petting zoo, we all stink," Beverly retorts as Ben sits next to her.

Bill just smiles at his friends as he looks about the circus tent. Large and vast, lit up by almost countless lights and when he looks up, he doesn't even see the top of the tent. Every older kid in Derry, around Georgie's age and up, the ones who hadn't gone missing, were in the tent, about to watch the show. Bill was next to Georgie, who had Dorsey on his other side, while Cheryl and Esther were on Dorsey's other side. On Bill's other side was Stan, who was next to Ben, and obviously Ben was next to Beverly. On Beverly's other side was Eddie, then Richie, and then Mike.

Bill looked at all of the prizes they had gotten and saw that Beverly had a book, a Nancy Drew Mystery Story, _The Hidden Staircase_ and was holding Eddie's Unicorn plush, while Richie had his comic book and was rifling through a bunch of horror movie monster and character cards, Stan had multiple comics of _The Guardians of the Galaxy_ as well as a bunch of action figures, Mike had his football, Eddie had his comic, and Bill had the _Creepshow_ comic book and the book from Robert, all of them with their dolls, but he quickly realizes that neither Ben nor Georgie have gotten any prizes...

He doesn't have a clue what Ben would like, maybe books like Bill because he had mentioned that he was in the library, but he knows for a fact that Georgie loves turtles... and he can't help but think of the giant plush one he saw... he bites his lip, wondering if he would be able to win it for him...

They're seated high up, what Eddie called a "good view" but Bill knew it was more because it was a healthy distance away from whatever Robert had planned, Bill being the only one that knew about Vitaly and the hoops. Not only that, but Eddie had completely missed the fact that there were dozens, almost hundreds, of hoops above their heads, in all sizes, large and small, each one gleaming silver. Bill cannot help but wonder how thin but strong the wires must be, because it honestly looks as though the hoops are simply floating in midair. He guesses then that it means acrobatics in the air, the clown's act since Vitaly is still retired, but then... what the hell did the clown need him for?

Yet he cannot help but smile as he thinks of Vitaly's gentleness, of how the tiger, a creature who put the 'danger' in dangerous, had let Bill pet him as though he was a housecat instead of one of nature's most deadliest beauties. Vitaly had even licked him on his nose, like a friendly housecat, rather than a massive beast of beautiful deadliness that could kill him without making a sound.

Excited murmurs echo through the crowd as the circus music played cheerfully all around, Bill sharing a jumbo bag of popcorn with Georgie, fully aware that Georgie was most likely going to crash from a sugar high soon unless he got a proper dinner, while Ben shares his popcorn with Beverly and Mike shares cotton candy with Richie and Eddie. Bill feels faint with excitement as he's smiling, grinning even, quite childishly, almost uncharacteristically of him, even though that circus music sounds so familiar, more than just the fact that it had been playing nonstop since they had arrived...

... just where had he heard it before?

As if on cue to Bill's question, the clown comes in, performing cartwheels in perfect sync to the music. Bill watches with an awed, childish sort of smile, one that has Richie nudging Eddie and pointedly looking at him while Eddie smacks at him with his comic book. Bill doesn't see Vitaly, or any of the animals from the petting zoo or even Gia the Jaguar or whatever Sonya was, and he watches Robert cartwheel his way into the middle of the tent, right in the center of all the attention, and he tilts his head as he watches the clown move, the man propelling himself forward with his hands and feet...

... his limbs were quite long, adding to his height, obviously, but they were quite spiderlike in their moments, Bill would dare say...

The clown finally stands, the widest grin on his face.

"He still doesn't have any funny hair," Georgie comments.

"I-I-Is huh-he s-s-supp-p-posed t-to?" Bill asks.

"He said the storm blew it away," Georgie says and Bill's lips quirk even as the clown looks up at them.

Looks up at Bill.

The grin on the clown's face is childishly mischievous, his starry blue eyes lit with a mirth Bill had never seen before, even when he told Bill to not tell Eddie about the tiger. His smile softens and Richie nudges Eddie again, gesturing towards the clown and then Bill before pressing his hands together and making kissy faces at Eddie, who gives him a dirty look and smacks him upside the back of the head.

Funnily enough, nobody even comments about it, as though this is the norm for them.

It is, but that's besides the point.

And then...

"OOOOOOOOOH!"

Cheryl, then Esther, and then a lot of other people make this noise at the sight of Vitaly, Eddie especially, though his is more of a shrill, shocked, maybe even horrified, shriek as he clings onto Richie's arm, the boy not looking like he minded one bit, as the massive tiger walks into the circus tent, his powerful muscles rippling under his thick fur, even more pronounced somehow. Bill can't help but beam at the fact that there is still no handler, besides the clown himself.

"Is he for fucking real?" Eddie hisses through gritted teeth. "Does he not know that thing can rip a man apart in seconds?"

"Huh-He knuh-knows," Bill says, smiling at the grin he gets.

From Vitaly.

Something flashes in Eddie's eyes as he sharply turns his head at Bill, pointing an accusing finger at him.

"You fucking knew, you asshole!" Eddie snaps. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"W-Wuh-We w-wuh-wanted t-to s-suh-see y-your r-ruh-ruh-reaction," Bill says simply, still smiling as Beverly laughs.

"You dick!" Eddie snaps, still hiding behind Richie even though he's far away from Vitaly.

Personally, though Bill didn't like him, he'd be more worried about Connor, who's on the bottom seat and giving the tiger a dirty look. It was as though the boy was determined to hate everything about this circus just because Robert hadn't taken his side after he broke up the fight.

The clown bends down to face the tiger, the tip of his red painted nose brushing over the bridge of Vitaly's. A way of greeting. Gloved fingers reach behind the tiger's ear, quite like the quarter trick Eddie had complained about the day he'd gotten his doll, and Eddie even grumbles about balloons, and Bill sees a flash of silver and even from a distance, it looks like the smallest hoop ever made, looking like it could be a ring for someone's pinky finger rather than a hoop for a circus performance.

The tiger rolls his eyes as the clown beams, throwing the tiny ring into the air and a chorus of shocked gasps echo through the crowd as it falls back down, spinning as it does, and slowly becomes bigger and bigger until it's the size of a hula hoop. He catches it in the air and grips it with his right hand, grinning all the while and he does a bow...

... in midair.

The hoop had started rise back up into the air once the clown had caught it, as though invisible wires were pulling it back up into the air, taking the clown with it, but Bill doesn't even know when the hell the clown could have attached the wires... or replaced the ring with the hoop... and it looked pretty _real_ to watch the clown simply float into the air, like a balloon ascending into the sky, and the clown floated in the middle of all of the hoops, some placed vertically and others horizontally. Some where he would go in through the side and out the other end, and others where he would either go up or down.

The clown was hanging onto that silver hoop, much closer in the air to Bill and his friends than he was on the ground, certainly, and he looked as though that was all that was keeping him from plummeting back to the earth. The clown was only gripping it with one hand and as he started to swing his long legs back and forth, the crowd watching with bated breath...

... he wasn't floating...

... he was _flying_...

He had flung himself forward, propelling himself with the skill of an acrobat and tucked his legs into his chest, his arms around his legs, before grabbing onto the next hoop and spinning through it, with a grace that reminded Bill of a bird soaring through the air, a cat leaping with such grace from one spot to another. And then he was speaking, and Bill recognized the quote immediately as Robert propelled himself through hoop after hoop, sometimes flying through the side of them, spinning the hoop before using it to throw himself farther into the air;

"' _What a piece of work is man_!'"

He quotes as he holds onto a silver hoop with one hand, his legs pressed together as he flies, almost like a bird, through the air and towards the next hoop.

"' _How noble in reason_ ,'"

He quotes as he grips it with one hand and spins up and down several times before throwing himself forward, throwing himself into the air and grabbing onto the next hoop with both hands, Bill well aware that he was coming closer to them, though he still couldn't wonder what the clown needed 'assisting' with, unless that was just an excuse to get Bill to join in the show. He watches as Robert balances himself on his head on the hoop, his hands not touching it anymore and his arms stretched out, his legs held up right above him, something Bill didn't think was possible, and the clown continues;

" _how infinite in faculty_!"

He grabs onto the bottom of the hoop with both hands, his long legs now dangling underneath him before throwing himself into a full bodied spin, legs pressed against his chest and arms holding his legs before stretching out and grabbing another hoop... with his leg only and hooking it under his knee. Bill couldn't help but shake his head in amusement as Eddie made a panicking sound every time the clown let go of a hoop. He swings forward, still quoting as he dangles from the hoop by his leg, completely upside down;

" _In form and moving how express and admirable_!"

He grabs onto another hoop, almost cannonballing himself into the air as the lights stay focused on him, Bill unable to look anywhere else, watching with that same awed look.

" _In action how like an angel_ , _in apprehension how like a god_! _The beauty of the world_. _The paragon of animals_."

Robert gazes upon the nearly countless faces of the children as he spins around, his legs above his head as he holds onto the hoop with one hand, the other preparing to grab hold of Bill's, should he let him, and as the hoop flies through the air with the force of his hold, he debates. He knows what the final line means.

 _Screw it_ , he thinks as he flies forward, releasing the hoop to grab hold of the one he had started with, the very same one Vitaly had burned himself upon, only this Vitaly had done it quite differently than the "original" one. Meaning that the hoop had been lit on fire, not by his choice, and had been much larger than a ring for a pinky finger.

" _And yet to me, what is this quintessence of dust_? _Man delights not me_ ; _no_ , _nor woman neither_ , _though by your smiling you seem to say so_."

Bill understands what it means, as does Ben. Robert has a... shall we say, _fondness_ , for only two human beings in this entire town. And oh what a strong loathing he holds for two in particular, one for his own history and the other for what he did to the unborn, though he knows such a thing is an injustice. _He_ caused the creation of this world, not they. He has his regrets while they have their blissful ignorance of the actions of their past lives and the existence of other universes. Mainstream and not. Pocket and parallel.

Irony and fate, thy mistresses are cruel.

Yet as he gazes upon Bill's face, awestruck and inspired, his pale eyes and his auburn hair, his small little face beaming up at him with a childlike wonder you'd surely never find on any other Bill Denbrough, he cannot think about those things.

Bill sees it then.

Starry blue.

A gloved hand was being extended out to him.

A childish grin on the face of a man.

Something hopeful.

Bill recalls the clown's earlier words before he had left the tent...

"I told you I needed an assistant."

Bill's lips part as his breath shakes, staring into the clown's eyes.

They glitter like gemstones, quite like Vitaly's, only instead of two fat emeralds Robert's eyes are like unearthly sapphires. It reminds Bill of actual glitter, how they shimmer under the lighting, and he feels his face burn hotly as he realizes the light is focused on him and the clown now. His heart beats strangely, his stomach feeling fluttery and nervous. He's never really been scared of heights, he's not fond of Ferris wheels but he wouldn't call it _fear_...

The clown is poised, crouching even, on the silver hoop, both of his heels pressed against the metal ring as it seemingly floats before Bill's very eyes, one foot in front of the other, Eddie searching for the wire like a madman while Richie rolls his eyes, Beverly smacking Ben's arm excitedly while Georgie looks excitedly between Bill and the clown. One gloved hand hands onto the top of the hoop, which the clown is nearly sitting in, while the other is still extended out for Bill to take.

The clown can sense all of their thoughts, as well as every kid in the tent. Just as he can sense Vitaly's amusement.

Eddie is adamant there is a wire somewhere, Richie is annoyed with him. Role reversal. Stan is staring with a shocked awe, the same as Mike. Ben would be the same way if he wasn't envious of the attention Beverly is giving Bill, while the clown feels flickers of envy pooling in his own belly at the wide-eyed look she's giving Bill, all while Georgie is excited to see his big brother, his "best best" friend and Pennywise, his clown friend, become friends with each other.

The clown's smile turns soft as he keeps his hand extended. His voice is soft, gentle, and beyond patient and understanding. He will understand if Bill says no, but some part of him is hopeful that Bill won't. But his insecurity pokes through, he knows.

"Do you trust me?"

Bill gives him a shaky smile, his eyes like two pools that the clown fears. It seems as though, once he dives in, he might never find it in himself to resurface... he wouldn't want to. The smile turns into a shy grin.

"Yuh-Yes..."

Warmth.

Bill's arm reaches out, his fingers brushing over the clown's, and he feels the warmth of Bill's hand against his own cold one and the clown smiles, much more radiant than any star or earthly or even unearthly jewel Bill's human mind could conjure up, his eyes glittering like stars in the darkness, as the clown stands to his forms full height on the hoop, not at all balanced but not even trembling or jerking in the slightest, and Bill lets out an audible gasp, shocked and awed, a childlike wonder sparkling in his eyes, as the boy is pulled, most gently, into the clown's arms. That wasn't what shocked him, however, it was the fact that to Robert, Bill must weigh no more than a doll...

The hoop suddenly goes flying into the air, as though sharply yanked by a wire, the clown holding onto it with his feet and Bill holds onto him, his arms wrapping around Robert's neck and his hands gripping his ruff and the back of the doublet in a vicelike grip, even stronger than when Bill had first spotted Vitaly and had been frightened. The clown can hear the applauding, the loudest being Georgie and Beverly and even Henry, that middle one to Ben's envy and his guilt.

He knows Ben doesn't want to be jealous of Bill, he just is.

Bill can't feel anything beneath his feet, but he doesn't feel the pull of gravity forcing him to the ground in what could be an untimely, accidental _**death** _\-- the clown shakes his head at that, not that Bill sees it -- and he grips the clown's fitted doublet with a hold that he is sure is more constricting than that of a deadly serpent, and he doesn't care. It feels soft underneath his fingertips, almost even more so than Vitaly's fur, and he is half tempted to wrap his legs around the clown's waist for more support, though he doesn't know if that would offset the clown's balance.

Cold arms wrap around him, comforting him. One around his head, gloved fingers brushing through his hair, while the other wraps around his waist, cold fingers tickling his side, mindful not to touch his hip, he can't help but notice. His injured hip.

"You know, it's no fun if you don't open your eyes to enjoy the view," Robert's voice says, just as rich and deep as always, just as comforting as before.

Bill opens one eye, having to force it open, the side of his face pressed firmly against a strong chest as he grips the back of the fitted doublet, his arms no longer around the clown's neck, feeling Robert's shoulder blades against his hands, and then, seemingly against his will, though Robert knows for a fact that Bill's will is the strongest of them all, he opens both eyes, a soundless gasp escaping past his lips as the clown brushes his fingers over Bill's bangs, a warm smile on his painted lips.

Almost as though he was standing in outer space, each silver hoop like an entrance to a new world of countless colors, the lights from all of the rides illuminated the silver of the hoops, casting new colors like an explosion of rainbows. Pinks and greens, yellows and oranges, reds and blues, purples and magenta and all kinds of pale and deep colors, light and dark. He can see the pale lights flickering down below, see the countless faces of every kid in Derry, his friends and his little brother, staring up at them eagerly with awed looks. He understands why, because it honestly seems like there isn't a wire to be had, but also, the clown is balanced perfectly on the hoop...

... with only one foot...

... even though you would think Bill's added weight would offset the balance...

One long leg is curled around the other, a single boot resting against the thing ring that is Vitaly's hoop. He can even see the tiger tilt his massive head curiously at the two of them, the boy being certain that he and the clown were merely pinpricks, like the stars themselves, so many miles away, barely even visible to the human eye.

He lets out a shuddering gasp as he grips the clown's sides tightly, one foot wrapping around the clown's ankle, his foot brushing over the clown's other boot, his laces touching a red pompom, and the other dangles over the side of the hoop to the point that he feels nauseous, almost faint and yet...

"Are you afraid?"

He is but he isn't. He fears he will fall, because it is a pretty _long fucking way down_ , but he knows that the clown has no intention of letting him fall. Or even if he lets go of Bill, for a maneuver, he will be there to catch him. Bill's stomach feels hollow, and there's a cold sweat starting to form on the back of his neck, and yet at the same time...

He can hear the blood rushing in his ears, hear the sound of his own sporadic heartbeat. He is afraid, but in the strangest way possible, this very moment is the most _fun_ he's ever had.

Bill trusts him. Not just the clown, not just the circus performer, but Robert.

He trusts Robert.

He feels weightless as he hesitantly looks up at the clown, who is beaming right back down at him. Bill's face feels warm as he stares at the handsome one of the clown, of Robert. Even so high up, to the point where everyone on the ground looks like nothing more than mere ants, mere pinpricks in his vision, he realizes that the top of the tent is open, and they're floating, honestly floating, above the entire circus. He can actually see his house... he shudders as he holds onto the clown. Yet he can't help but laugh slightly, a shocked and shaky thing.

"Huh-How is th-this p-p-puh-possible?"

"It's not," Robert says pleasantly, running his fingers tenderly along the back of Bill's neck.

Bill laughs again.

"Y-Yuh-You d-duh-didn't r-r-ruh-really nuh-need an assistant... duh-did y-you?"

"Nope."

Bill laughs again at the sheer pleasantness of Robert's tone. He doesn't swear often, Bill, but there comes a time when it needs to happen. And this is one of those times.

"Y-Y-You're a d-duh-dick."

A rumbling laugh echoes out of the clown, his chest vibrating against Bill's head and the boy trembles at the sound, his knees jiggling again. More so, he feels happy to know that _he_ made the clown, made Robert, laugh such a laugh, and that he made the man laugh at all.

"I can take you back down if you like," Robert says gently as Bill stares up at his eyes, that same starry blue, shimmery like actual glitter. "I can take you back down and pull off the rest of the performance myself, or you can join me and we can both _fly_."

Vitaly, the Vitaly Robert has come to know, always said it felt like he was flying when he leapt through those hoops, even the flaming ones. The feeling of something akin to flying, and actually flying were two entirely different things, the clown knew this personally, especially after having delivered Mike's doll personally. He knows Bill is interested, a thrill like nothing else the boy has ever felt coursing through his very veins, blood rushing to his face even though he feels on the verge of fainting, though the clown knows he won't actually do so.

Not this time, anyway.

He laughs before Bill even speaks, the boy's mind made up because maybe, just maybe, Bill enjoys the fact that the clown chose _him_ above all others.

"Y-Y-You're s-suh-still a duh-dick."

 _Love you_ , _too_ , _Billy_.

Robert frowns slightly as he recalls those words but shakes it away. In the past, they had been spoken as a mockery... now... his frown deepens as his heart starts to quicken its pace... surely it wasn't the case... it surely couldn't be _true_... He closes his eyes and shakes those thoughts away, he can't think those right now. This is for Bill, new memories for the two of them to make together, but the clown certainly isn't stupid.

He knows he can't avoid the truth forever.

 _Just until August_ , he thinks desperately, though he isn't truly sure what that entails for him. Or for Bill or any of the Losers and Georgie. As well as Dorsey and Cheryl and Esther...

... he just keeps creating imbalances everywhere, doesn't he?

He shakes his head and smiles again as he holds Bill close, one hand on the back of the boy's head and the other around his waist. He is perfectly balanced on only one foot even as he morphs two more sets of arms and hands underneath the pair holding Bill, the same white sleeves with the starched ruffs around his wrists and the same white gloves on the extra hands. It even appears that the clown suit was made for a six-armed man.

"I won't let you fall," the clown promises him, "and even when I let you go, I will catch you then."

Poetry was never much of his thing, though he knew Bill has a fondness for haiku... or at least... in another life he does...

"That's nuh-nice," Bill says breathlessly, a mix of absolute disbelief and blind faith the only two things keeping him from asking the clown to take him back down.

"Hang on tight," the clown says, grinning a mix of wickedness and childish, as Bill's eyes shoot back open, the boy having closed them and shoved his face into the clown's chest, the boy looking up at him with a mix of sheer horror and childlike wonder as the clown bends his foot, his heel leaving the hoop, balanced only on the toe of his boot, before he leaps into the air, quite slowly, as though everything is happening in slow motion, and his foot parts ways with the hoop, his extra limbs obscured from Bill's view, and then they're falling.

... Bill's mouth opens as though he's about to let out the shrillest, sharpest, highest pitched, most terrified scream he's ever screamed...

... and then...

... they're _flying_...

Bill's eyes are open the entire time, as he cannot bring himself to close them as he sees a multitude of colors dancing before his eyes. It really is almost as though he's flying, like a board soaring through the vast, never ending sky. He can see the shower of colors, as though rainbow colored glitter is falling like snow in the winter, see the clown's beaming face as he sees the world spinning around him, the clown holding him with both arms while only using his legs to grab onto the hoops and spin them around, almost like ballet in the air.

Up and down, forward and back, spinning in circles, twisting and twirling, moving with a grace Bill didn't think most performers had... unless Robert was the "best best" performer there was... and surely he must be...

Robert hooks his ankle on hoop, spinning them up and down and around several times before flinging himself into the air, taking Bill with him. Bill's hair is flying as he feels the wind tickling his cheeks...

Piping music, circus music, a childish and delightful thing, plays as the lights flash before his eyes, silver glinting in the background from the hoops. He can hear raucous laughter and cheering, Georgie and Beverly the loudest.

The clown never lets go of him even as he grabs onto multiple hoops, using his extra limbs as well as his legs, the latter most of all. He doubts this show will make the Dancing Dogs seem mundane, though it will be less thrilling for Bill, assuming the dogs want to perform and Robert won't make them if they don't want to, but he can't stop his red lipped smile from forming as he watches Bill's face _shine_.

That awed, childlike grin of deep wide wonder is pooling in Bill's eyes, sparkling like pale jewels and bringing light into the darkness. The fact is; Bill _trusts_ him. With his life. The fact that _he_ , after everything, was able to make _Bill_ , out of all of the kids in Derry, brats and not, do something simple (though nothing about this performance is simple) as _smile_.

He grips the hoop with both ankles, throwing Bill into the air and grabbing him by the ankles as he remembers Miss Spink, well, the other one, doing, Bill letting out a sharp, shrill sound but still grinning childishly nonetheless. Robert beams as he dangles Bill upside down, only for a brief moment, before throwing him into the air a second time, watching as the boy spun around before snatching him by the hands, his larger ones engulfing Bill's, mindful of his wrist. Bill stares up at him as he grins, that same wonder flashing in his eyes.

How _shiny_.

They both dangle, Robert upside down and Bill by his wrists, the boy not daring to look down. The backs of his knees are pressed against the silver hoop while Bill's feet dangle beneath him. Bill pants as he stares up at the clown.

"Vitaly had his accident, but that was because of terrible ownership," Robert says, "It won't happen twice."

 _That's a promise_ , the clown thinks. And promises are not meant to be broken.

Bill shudders as he breathes.

Robert's hands still felt cold despite the soft fabric of his gloves, and he knew the clown wouldn't judge him if he didn't want to. Perhaps it was impulsive, because after so many years of growing up in his little mundane, provincial, town, he wants a little excitement. The kind that goes well beyond the borders of dangerous even though he knows, without even looking, that Eddie is panicking with every fiber of his being and trying to deny the fact that he's enjoying the show, the dark haired boy mostly fearing for Bill's safety.

"Yuh-Yuh-Yes..."

The clown smiles warmly at him, eyes glittering like stars.

 _You're too good for this world_ , _Billy_ , Robert thinks, a softness in his gaze. A moonlike trance.

He opens his mouth, bellowing out, the deepness of his voice making Bill's knees quake like the earth itself, the butterflies erupting in his belly like a volcano.

"LIGHT THE HOOPS, ON _FIRE_!"

On the ground, Vitaly snorts with amusement at the terrified look that crosses Eddie's face even as he takes his stance. He opens his mouth, his furry cheeks stretching impossibly wide as he bares his teeth, his incisors glinting in the light as he arches his spine, muscles tensing, and Eddie's scream is drowned out by the vicious, _earth_ - _shattering_ , nearly _unearthly_ , almost otherworldly roar that bursts out of the tiger's entire being. His nose is scrunched, his eyes gleaming like raw and pretty stones, as he keeps roaring, the sound echoing throughout the entire tent, startling many of the children, enchanting the rest, and shaking the lights.

Instant, almost like spontaneous combustion, as though Vitaly's roar was what had summoned the flames instead of it being part of the clown's act. A chorus of shocked "Whoas!" echo below Bill's feet as every single hoop besides the one they're dangling from suddenly bursts into flames, orange and yellow, hints of red, flames flickering and crackling. He can feel the heat of the fires as they warm him even though it's already a hot summer day. He trembles and shivers, and as he inhales, a shuddery laugh escapes him.

The clown grins down at him even as he throws Bill into the air one last time, catching the boy with both arms around his waist. He misses the widening of the hoops, the expanding of their size, so that they may fit both Robert and Bill through them. Robert dispels his extra limbs as he balances himself on a single foot on the top of the hoop once more.

Bill grabs onto the clown's shoulders and trembles. He wraps his arms around the clown's neck, hearing the skipped beat of Robert's heart as he presses his ear against the clown's chest. Shyly, most shyly, maybe even weirdly but Bill is beyond caring about what's weird and what isn't, he cards his fingertips into the clown's hair, fingertips brushing along the back of the man's neck, feeling the cold skin underneath the soft, velvety locks of hair...

Just as soft as he had imagined...

Robert chuckles softly, cold breath ghosting over Bill's flesh as he lets them fall, both arms wrapped around Bill's smaller figure as he propels them through the flaming hoops, barely registering the heat of the flames, for Bill burns brighter than they, in his opinion. He uses his legs for grabbing into and swinging through the hoops, holding Bill as both of them soar through the flaming circles.

Bill gasps as he grips the clown closely, his knuckles surely turning white as the ruff he holds onto, when he feels the heat of the fire licking at his entire person, though not even for a second does it burn. It's like skydiving and actually flying at the same time, though Bill had never done either before today. Like a dance of the flaming birds, the clown spins and spirals through the fiery hoops with a grace unlike any other, Bill simply tagging along for the ride.

As Bill stares up into that painted face, illuminated by the yellow and orange glow of the fire, he cannot help but keep staring. He is certain that there is more than just the white and the red of the clown's makeup, more than just the starry blue of his eyes... he lets out a shivering gasp as he spots something akin to orange light flickering like candlelight behind the blue of the clown's eyes, glinting in a way that makes Bill think it wasn't just the reflection of the flames...

The clown gives him a smile as he propels the two of them into the air one last time, both in the upright standing position as they spin around three times, almost like Alex's dance back when he lived in the zoo, before the clown grabs onto the one silver hoop, the one that started this whole show, the only one not on fire, with a single hand, holding Bill with the other arm. Seemingly, they float in the air, miles and miles away from Vitaly and his friends and Georgie... away from all of the kids in Derry...

He still doesn't see any wires, though with how Robert had dangled from his leg on that hoop before the fires, it seemed like he had been moving in a way that there had to be some kind of rope or wire attached. Bill couldn't see one, his childish mind not caring at the moment, and simply enjoying the show.

His pupils are blown, his eyes wide, and his lips parted, his mouth agape as he looks up at the clown, his arms still wrapped around the man's neck as a long arm carefully holds him around the waist, the other holding onto the hoop. He can't help but notice that not even once, not even for a split second, had the clown touched his injured hip, his touch gentle, as though he thought Bill was something delicate and fragile, or somehow he knew about the injury, but only Bill knew about that one. He hadn't even told his dad... and certainly not Georgie.

Robert's eyes flicker as he hangs onto the hoop.

"Do you still trust me?"

Bill gives him a strange smile, a thing of disbelief and wonder at the same time. It was astounding in the clown's opinion.

 _Yes_ , Bill thinks. Without a doubt, without question.

Something must show on his face, because Bill knows he only thought that word, never spoke it, because the clown grins, something wild, like a tiger, something wicked and mischievous, like a prankster, and something childish. Bill's knees feel impossibly weak.

"You ready for the big finish?"

"Wuh-What's th-thuh-that?"

"Do you still trust me?"

There isn't a doubt about that, and Bill doesn't understand why the clown bothers to ask. Robert smiles and with only one arm, with a strength greater than Bill's, he holds him up to the hoop.

"Hang on to it."

But Bill only holds the clown tighter. This makes the clown smile rather than roll his eyes.

"Wuh-What are y-yuh-you...?"

"If I tell you, it'll ruin the fun," the clown says something. "Like this."

And so, as if proving a point, Robert lifts his legs up and carefully wraps them around Bill's waist, using them to hold onto Bill as he lets go of the boy's body with his arm. Bill's eyes widen at the action, clutching Robert even more tightly as the clown holds the hoop with both hands, demonstrating what he wanted Bill to do.

"Fuh-Fuh-Fuck that," Bill says and the clown laughs.

"You'll be fine," Robert says honestly. "You will fall, and I will catch you. Simple."

Sounding simple and being simple were two entirely different things.

The clown just grins before his eyes go soft again.

"Spink and Forcible did this all the time. Gave their lives to the theater," he says pleasantly. "I won't let anything happen to you. Not now, not ever. You know that, don't you?"

In the strangest way, Bill _does_ know that. He treats Bill nicely, let him join in what had to be one of the most dangerous shows the circus had to offer, and introduced him, before anyone else, to Vitaly in a way that most others would consider insane. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't, but Bill didn't care. He would never take that back. That was his memory to hold and cherish forever. Just like this one.

"Yuh-Yes."

Swallowing, he forces his fingers to unclench from the clown's ruff and doublet and with a trembling akin to a leaf about to fall in the autumn, he lifts his arms up and wraps both hands around the hoop, holding it for dear life. He lets out a shaky breath, because his hands are sweating and feel incredibly clammy, as though they're going to slip and he's going to fall.

They dangle in front of each other, faces only inches apart. Bill's cheeks feel incredibly warm again as he stares at that handsome, smiling, painted face.

"Even if you fall, you will be caught by my hands, for now and always," Robert says simply and Bill's heart does a strange sort of backflip.

"Puh-Poetry," he says, still trembling even as he smiles shakily. "Thuh-That's nuh-nice."

Though, he didn't know much about poetry. He liked it, don't get him wrong, and he was always curious about haikus, but he preferred to write stories.

"A haiku," Robert says, Bill smiling, "I'm fond of them."

Ben was always more of the poet, especially when it came to Beverly. Robert had just... developed a fondness for it over time, especially as haikus, over time, became Bill's favorite sort of poem... his eyes lower, downcast and sullen, miserable and longing, before he shakes that away...

That was then, this is now.

That wasn't his life. That was... someone else's.

This is his life now.

"Vitaly's getting the barrel, don't worry," Robert says cheerfully, a childish thing. "See you on ground level."

And then, gloved hands let go of the silver hoop.

The willpower of gravity is what the clown lets pull him down, Bill's gasp of thrilled shock, his shrill shriek of fear, his jumble of thoughts, and his concern for the clown making Robert smile as he starts to fall, clapping both hands together above his head as he goes headfirst, legs pressed together, ankles crossed, perfectly aware that Vitaly was just now starting to shove the barrel towards the center of the tent.

Dick, Robert thinks pleasantly as he sees Eddie's horrified face in the crowd and the awestruck ones on the rest of the kids. Especially Beverly and Georgie. His eyes linger on Beverly, however, a note of jealousy stinging his insides like the angriest nests of hornets, wasps, and yellow jackets. He knows it's silly, but like Ben, he can't help how he feels.

 _Well_ , he thinks grimly as he keeps his position, still falling headfirst, _at least I kept my clothes on_.

And with that thought in mind, he dives into the barrel, disappearing into it even though he is by far taller than it, splashing confetti out of it onto the ground and onto Vitaly's nose, causing the tiger to sneeze and grumble as dozens, nearly a hundred, awed gasps echo throughout the tent.

"Is he dead?!" Eddie's voice demands and Robert joins in with the laughter, the barrel rattling.

Bill trembles as he hears Eddie's question, but judging by the sound of laughter he guesses nothing bad happened.

He might be able to compare this moment to a leap of sheer and utter, absolutely honest faith. Does the clown really plan on catching him? Can he really let go? His legs dangle, quite precariously, in his opinion, underneath him, his vision swaying before steadying. Every nerve in his body feels shot, Robert nowhere in sight, Bill guessing he dove into the barrel, Vitaly sitting next to it. He can tell it's him by the orange fur and the black stripes, that, and the emerald-green eyes that look up, questioning why he hasn't let go yet.

Bill shudders and gasps, his heart feeling ready to pop out from his chest like a cartoon character. He thinks of how soft the fabric of the clown's suit had been under his fingertips, how sturdy and strong the clown clearly was, more than just being a well practiced acrobat, surely, and how... how...

Bill had felt something, back when they had hugged, in that tent. Robert's hug, cold as it was, had made him feel _safe_.

For the love of God he could die any minute, could have slipped from the clown's fingers and had plummeted to his untimely death. He didn't regret saying yes, though surely in some other life he wouldn't have. He had liked how happy it had made the clown, enjoyed getting to know him because Robert was one of the most intriguing people he had ever met...

Bill trusted him. He knew it was crazy to put so much trust in a stranger, but he knew, in a way he didn't fully understand, that Robert wasn't just a stranger. It wasn't just about being called a chicken shit for not joining in the show by Connor, Belch, and Vic. Or anyone else. He _liked_ Robert.

He wasn't like most people, Bill knew that. He was like a mystery novel Bill really wanted to read, find himself invested in the secrets and wonders Robert's story had to offer, and still finding himself shell shocked but awed once he uncovered to the truth, solved the riddle.

Bill trusted him. Without a doubt, without question. Robert was his friend. Though, judging by those little tickling butterflies he felt in his belly, the same sort he had felt when Beverly had dropped her dress at the quarry, though this was obviously different, stronger somehow, he knows he's feeling something _more_.

He bites his lip, flushing in a way he hasn't before. He understands what it means, but he can deal with that later.

"Fuh-Fuck it..." Bill whispers breathlessly before letting his fingers slip from the silver hoop.

A single thought flickered in his mind alongside that wonder about how he felt about the clown, as the surrealism of this entire moment was surely beyond even his comprehension. He wasn't sure if he could tell the difference between dream and reality anymore, and yet he still couldn't stop that thought;

 _This_ _isn't_ _real_.

He hears the chorus of voices crying out as the wind created by his falling smacks at the back of his arms, fully aware without even looking that many of them had to be pointing. He hears Dorsey and Cheryl and even Esther loudest of all;

"Look!"

Bill plummets to the earth, like an asteroid or a meteor hurtling through outer space, and feels the air rushing to him, smacking him like thousands of hands, prickling his skin like needles, and he hears Eddie's horrified yelling as Robert, grinning ear to ear, rises out of the barrel, balanced on only one leg, the other bent while his boot is pressed against his knee, long arms extended outwards, preparing to catch him. Bill yells before he thuds against something strong and sturdy, like the branches of an oak tree, and yet so cold at the same time. He feels cold hands on him as he feels long arms wrapping around him, holding him almost bridal style.

And like before, as he gazes up into those comforting, starry blue eyes, the butterflies tickling every inch of him, he feels _safe_.

And as Robert gazes into those pale eyes, every fiber of his own being, of It's being, enjoying this moment, he feels the same way.

Unafraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- A heads up, I think, think I'm not sure right now, in the next chapter I'll be centering it around a Ben and Beverly moment from the 1990 version with probably a dash of a scene from Beastars. I'm working on it ;)  
> \- I'm definitely working on a scene for Bill and Robert. Well, two actually. I mentioned a holiday in the previous chapter, and that same holiday was mentioned in the chapter before that ;)  
> \- I like haiku, I just hope I did right by it in this chapter, and I've got one planned for Robert for later  
> \- See y'all in the next chapter! Thank you all for your comments and kudos! Let me know how it was down below!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Chapter Nineteen!  
> \- Sorry for the two week wait but here it is!  
> \- Draft on the 27th, posted on the 29th. I don't get it either  
> \- The tricks in this were inspired by Oak's "Slave of Drama" story  
> \- Y'all are gonna hate someone in this chapter more than you already do  
> \- Two more haikus, yay!  
> \- Edit: Minor things changed on Nov 5th. And now the 7th  
> \- Thanks again for all the comments and kudos! Let me know how it was in the comment section!

Bill's chest heaves as he catches his breath, his eyes impossibly wide as he gazes up at Robert, who is beaming right back down at him, a gleam in his eyes that matches the shine of his pearly white teeth, a seemingly everlasting grin on that handsome, painted face. Bill's cheeks feel incredibly warm, not just from the heat of the flames, he knows, and his belly fluttery, as he feels Robert's arms holding him up, bridal style, with one arm underneath his legs, pressed against the backs of his knees, and the other arm around his upper back, a cold but strong forearm pressing against his shoulder blades. Shockingly, Bill feels quite _comfortable_.

Bill's hands are firmly grasping the clown's doublet again, having grabbed hold as soon as the clown had caught him and Bill's mind caught up with his body, the boy realizing what he had done. One hand is pressed against the clown's solid chest, just above his heart, a racing beat against his fingertips.

He's oblivious the raucous outcries all around them, applauding and whistling, such childish cheering. Georgie and Beverly are the loudest of them all, the latter having stood up to start whooping alongside Georgie as the rest of the crowd continues cheering, with the exception of Eddie, Ben, Richie, and obviously, Belch, Vic, and Connor. Vitaly is staring between Robert and Bill with a knowing gleam in his green eyes as he shakes his large furry head.

Bill's entire body shudders as he stares up at the clown, pale jeweled eyes meeting starry blue, his pupils blown to the point that his irises are nothing more than thin rings around black dots.

Robert knows exactly why Eddie, Ben, and Richie aren't cheering, and are instead staring with rather unimpressed and grumpy expressions, one in particular quite envious, and another with a hint of concern. Shockingly, it isn't Eddie who has the concern on his face.

Eddie's reason for not being impressed with the show is because he can't believe the absolute "danger" that Robert would put Bill in. The fact of the matter that Robert was surely the most dangerous thing in this entire circus, after Vitaly and Bill, of course, and Eddie having no idea was nothing short of morbidly amusing to the clown.

Ben's reason is because he wishes the clown had picked _him_ to join the performance, if for no other reason than to have Beverly cheering for _him_ like that.

Richie's reason is that he's still worried about Bill, having experienced the redhead's earlier outburst and he still can't quite figure out why it happened. He's the one that's concerned the most, because he's worried about his friend. About why Bill would yell at him, and about why Bill would agree to doing something completely dangerous as trusting his life to a complete stranger, while flying through flaming hoops or any hoops.

In midair.

Bill almost never swore, so it was a shock for Richie to hear that, especially without the stutter, and it was even worse that Bill had _screamed_ at him. Richie guessed he deserved it for invading Bill's personal space, but he doesn't know what the extent of it is and that's his cause for worrying about his friend. That, and the Bill Denbrough he knows would never have done something as completely dangerous as this. Not in this lifetime or any other lifetime, Richie had been sure.

 _He has no idea_ , Robert thinks.

Yet he can understand Richie's concern, because like Stan and Eddie, Richie knows about the situation with Bill's dad. The boy doesn't know personally what it's like to have such a parent, an overly strict one as well as an absent one, but he is sympathetic to Bill because the bullying worsened afterwards. Richie also, of course, doesn't know how to handle Bill's situation, or apologize for what happened, finding that cracking jokes, even dumb ones that don't actually make anyone, other than himself, laugh somehow helps. Sometimes, not that Richie knows this, it does. He's just worried about his "best best" friend, because that's what Bill is to Richie. His "best best" friend out of all of the Losers. Robert knows this, though he also knows he shouldn't.

They've been friends the longest, having met Stan and Eddie afterwards, the former being ridiculed for his religion and the latter for his medical "problems" which were mostly induced by his own mother. They all know about Bill's dad because their time together this past year has decreased significantly, and only an idiot would miss the bruising on Bill's arms. It makes Robert _sick_ to know that the doctor from the hospital had completely ignored them even without the clown's influence on this town, though that too had decreased significantly.

He didn't _need_ to darkly influence the town and the adults in it anymore, was the disturbing fact.

And he would have killed that doctor, if he hadn't left as quickly as he had arrived. Robert was sure he had only been in Derry for not even a day before leaving...

Ben and Richie, out of all of the Losers, are the only ones who don't know what it's like to fear your own parent. To feel as though you're treading the thinnest of ice, moments away from falling into the most coldest, most dangerous, most _deadly_ of all waters. Beverly practically walked on eggshells around her dad, Stan just the same.

Stan fears that he has upset his dad, the boy knowing he already has. Eddie fears his mom, in a sense, even though he loves her deeply. He just fears she won't let him be around his friends anymore if he gets hurt somehow, even if it isn't his friends' faults. Beverly fears her dad because he wants her to be someone she's not, kind of like Stan; he wants her to be her mom, she knows, deep down. It hurts even though she does love her dad.

That's part of why she fears her own mother, though she's been long since dead, because Beverly knows she won't ever be her. Her dad has told her, numerous times before, every year on her mom's birthday, that she was _nothing_ like her.

Mike doesn't fear his parents as much as he fears his guilt, blaming himself for their deaths as he neither ran for help nor opened the door himself, though the handle was far too hot to be touching anyway. He now fears that he's disappointing his grandfather, more and more each day, because he's not like his dad. Kind of like Beverly.

He remembers October, how Georgie was afraid Bill was going to kill him. Bill loves his little brother too much for that, he knows. He would've made him another boat, no questions asked. No problems at all. Georgie, he supposes, doesn't fear anything, other than upsetting Bill or seeing Bill get hurt.

Bill, however, his fear is much more like Beverly's. His own dad is forcing the role of his mom onto him, making him cook and clean, do the laundry and take care of Georgie like a good little --

Robert stops that train of thought.

He'll kill the bastard before then.

And he'll _enjoy_ every last second.

All Richie knows is that something must have happened to Bill, because he's never reacted that way before about having his personal space invaded. Richie's own childish mind, not stained and diseased by the plague that was the clown's influence, is unable to comprehend and understand what could have set Bill off like that, though he has the lingering suspicion that it has something to do with Patrick because of what happened the day they met Mike. Richie wasn't as oblivious, nor as dumb, as others seemed to take him for. Robert knows Bill, this one, at the very least, he thinks with a grim note of something quite like regret, is in good hands when it comes to his friends.

He will never forgive himself for letting Patrick slip through his fingers, through his teeth and his claws that first time. He would kill him, over and over again, in every single universe, if ever given the chance. The same to be said about Zack Denbrough.

He stops thinking about that, stilling and tensing up, visibly, when he feels Bill's fingertips trailing over the chest of his doublet. He knows what lies underneath, the body of a man, specifically, Robert "Bob" Gray, the _real_ circus performer, and he cannot help but wonder if Bill knows, too, somehow. Or he is wondering what lies underneath. He is certain that Bill is having a moment of remembrance, a dream the boy can reach but not quite hold. A lost memory. Bill, he knows, isn't even aware that he's doing it, too warped in his own shock at his actions and too enamored to even move, though he does quite like the softness of the clown suit (silk or satin, he wonders), the boy smiling a strange smile, an awestruck, dazed sort of thing, as his little finger trails over a red pompom.

The clown remembers the time that Bill had pressed his little hands to his chest, once before, in a life from long ago, when he obtained that wound that left behind a nasty scar. It was as though his frantic, panicking little mind thought that his tiny hands could stop the bleeding or at the very least stem the flow of blood. Bill, now, was quite like that broken piece of fence, in Robert's opinion. A dangerous weapon that wounded him deeply, and indeed left him with a bleeding heart.

And yet Robert cannot help but hold him close in an almost tender embrace as he listens to the slowing of Bill's heart without even pressing his ear to the boy's chest, as he sees the whirlwind, the twister, of emotions spiraling through Bill's eyes as the boy smiles up at him.

And yet once he hears Bill's thoughts, which are becoming coherent once more, no longer a jumble of disbelief, he cannot help but feel hurt, because how can Bill honestly still think that? How, after what Robert has done, in regards to Georgie and her, can Bill honestly still think that this isn't --

"This isn't _real_ enough for you, Billy?" he asks, almost whispering, as he remembers once more how he had asked Billy, well, _that_ Billy, those very words.

Hate.

That had been all he had felt when he had asked Billy that question. Hate and _hurt_. Because _how dare_ , _**how dare**_ , a little _thing_ , a _human being_ , a little one, a _child_ , one of the most **_rotten_ **of all creatures in Maturin's endlessly spewed universes, the **_foulest_ **of all of his creations, nastier than the demons and devils (most stemming from the darkest hearts, the dark halves, the hell bound hearts, of humanity itself), _**dare** _call a creature like him, the clown, a being far more ancient and far more powerful, _unreal_? How _dare_ he convince his little friend, another frightened pile of quivering, festering meat, blood, and bone, that the _clown_ wasn't _real_?

Pissed off couldn't even begin to describe how Robert had felt at hearing those words being spoken about his manifestations. About _him_.

It hadn't been _their_ willpower that had dispelled the manifestations of those doors. No, it had been merely a taunt, not that either boy had realized it back then nor had they ever realized it, not even 27 years later, when he, the clown, had set the boys free from that room and looked away from the terrified Eddie, who was then cradling a broken arm. He had merely given the boys the false hope that they were stronger than he was. Back when Robert truly believed he was stronger than them.

A broken piece of fence. Oh, it could kill monsters, all right. But not if you _believed_ it did. Eddie and Mike learned that one, the hard way. Though, his chest does pulse, quite painfully, as he remembers that moment, all too well.

Bill stares up at him as the clown grimaces in pain, those phantoms coming back to haunt him, Robert not realizing that Bill had taken notice of his flinching, the boy's fingers brushing over that very spot.

That jagged, everlasting imperfection.

That very real thing.

A nightmarish memory.

That was, after all, all the clown, It, was, wasn't it?

Mike's cruel words echo in his head, though they were never spoken to _him_ personally.

Not "Robert" but Pennywise. Or, at least, _a_ Pennywise.

But damn if Robert hadn't come so very, very _close_.

 _You're just a clown_.

Robert had never endured such cruelty before, only ever inducing it onto his victims before going in for the kill, though he had stopped doing that. Or, at the very least, he had stopped doing it to _children_. But by Maturin's shell how he had wanted to rip them apart, limb from limb, organ from organ, tendon by tendon, bone from bone, when he discovered _that_ was how they killed his twin.

That was _not_ a battle of wills, that was _cowardice_. They had all, even Billy, acted as though he wasn't real. Preying on the insecurity buried deep within that beating heart... Taunting, jeering, though they too were terrified out of their wits, scared for what was coming next, and had shrunk him down to size, ripped his still beating heart from his physical form, and crushed it in their filthy, filthy hands...

 _ **Imposter**_!

 _A mimic_!

 _ **Imposter**_!

 _Clown_! _Clown_! _Clown_!

Robert closes his eyes as he remembers those cruel words. Just as he remembers his own cruelty.

 _This isn't **real** enough for you_, _Billy_? _**I'm** not real enough_?

Oh, but Billy had spoken those cruel words before. And, oh, how Billy had hurt him so deeply. Oh, how this boy had angered him. Robert and his twin, so many years ago, so long ago it seemed, though time was rather a petty, almost basic construct for a creature like him. Time ran, quite differently, in each individual world, those preexisting and currently being made and those to be made, some of them varying slightly from the originals and others varying quite drastically. Time seemed quite irrelevant when you were an immortal being, mortality seemingly unworthy of thought, Robert thinks dourly.

Bill had hurt him, offended him, angered him. So, Robert had wanted to hurt him back. And, oh, how he truly had.

 _It was real enough for **Georgie**_!

He frowns as he remembers October. Bill _had_ forgiven him, once before. Yet it still should have been _easy_... But when he thought of Georgie, that little painted face just like his own, those big blue eyes and thought of Bill... he couldn't kill Georgie. Not in October, not then, not now, not ever.

But what delusional part of him had honestly thought that this could ever work? Could he truly right the wrongs of his past life? Or would it take _dying_ to do so?

He wasn't the most wicked, vile thing in this world, he knew. Humans are disgusting, most of them. Children are far more pure, most of them. Adults, quite nasty. Robert has seen, firsthand, what goes on through the minds of Zack Denbrough, Alvin Marsh, and Oscar "Butch" Bowers and so many others. Yet he didn't know where this lonely path would lead him next.

He had destroyed _one_ Lament Configuration, nearly killing himself in the process. Only _one_ , not _all_ of them. He had stopped Pamela Voorhees from going on her killing spree. He hadn't stopped her from killing Barry and Claudette (really, who would have?) but he had stopped her from making that fool's deal with the Necronomicon. He stopped Chucky from going on his killing sprees, promising him that if he ever went near Andy Barclay again he would only _wish_ he was dead. He had killed Freddy, though it wasn't as though he was the first to do so and he figured he wouldn't be the last. He had saved a bunch of circus animals from abusive owners and gave them the ability to speak to humans, not just themselves and fellow animals, and yet he was still creating so many more _imbalances_...

Dorsey... Georgie... Cheryl and Esther...

He wasn't like those other clowns. Not anymore. Perhaps it was out of character for him, to actually care about the children instead of seeing them as nothing more than meals to frighten before his next sleep cycle, but it was simply the way of this world.

Perhaps that was why he was still alive, after all...

Bill continues staring up at the clown, fingers pressed against that spot where he feels that racing heartbeat, seeing now that Robert was lost in thought, the clown having closed his eyes and reopened them, a glazed over sort of expression lingering in their depths. It was as though the man asking that weird question had triggered something deep within him, as though he was remembering something he had forgotten or was trying to forget but he couldn't because he had reminded himself of it. A memory he'd honestly rather rid himself of. Bill had seen the look of remembrance so many times before, sometimes on his mom or even his dad, sometimes on Georgie or even his friends, but those had been for simple things, and never before had their expressions been so...

... so...

... sad.

The clown blinks, still frowning even as countless eyes stare at the two of them and countless hands continue clapping, Beverly and Georgie the loudest. Robert stares down at him, Bill blinking with parted lips as he sees that they look quite pale again, a stormy gray. A depressive cloud filled with rain.

Sullen, and sad, no longer that beautiful, gemlike, and starry blue...

... had... had Bill hurt his feelings, somehow?

Or was he remembering something unrelated that Bill had just unintentionally reminded him of?

That still didn't explain the definite change in the clown's eye color... something Bill knew couldn't be _normal_...

" _I'm_ not real enough for you?"

It was as sharp as a knife being plunged into his gut, between his ribs, a memory flooding back to him as though a damn had broken in his mind, the flood inevitable, or as though a veil had been lifted off of his eyes. He knows what he had _thought_ when dangling seemingly for his life on that hoop, like a fragile ornament on a tree (and should it fall, it would smash open and shatter into a million pieces, Bill not liking the mental imagery of what could have happened to _him_ ), but he hadn't _spoken_ those words... had he? And even so, _how the hell_ would Robert have known what he may or may not have said unless he had the best hearing ever?

Unless something had shown on Bill's face, maybe his disbelief at his own actions, and Robert had taken it the wrong way...

However, that isn't what is bothering him now, prodding and poking at his thoughts, like Richie poking him with a stick at the quarry. In that flood that is a murky memory, something is rising to the surface. No, he feels a strange sense of deja vu, as though he's heard those words before, spoken to him directly, and by Robert know less, but _when_ on earth would that have been?

A voice echoes in his head, a deadly thing, distant but there, and it sounds like Robert, but this voice is much higher in pitch. Robert's voice was deep and rich, reminding Bill of warm and pleasant things even though his touch was colder than dry ice in the frostiest Hell. The voice lingering in his head, however, is much more cold than even that frostiest Hell and much more _cruel_ ; Robert had spoken those words to him in such a sad way, a miserable thing, but that voice in Bill's head had spoken to him in such an angry way, a livid thing.

And yet now he feels bad, because his mind conjures up the idea that he must have reminded Robert of something that is clearly hurting him, inside and out. That saddens and upsets him. From what Bill has seen himself, in just one day, the clown is miserable or sad even when bringing smiles to other people's faces. The only time Bill has really seen him smile all day is in Vitaly's tent. Bill cannot begin to understand what on earth the clown would even have to feel sad about, unless it was just something a kid like him had yet to understand.

Something to do with being called fake, something not real. Bill guesses it was disbelief on his face, and he unintentionally reminded the clown of that. He then can't help but wonder if it has something to do with Connor, or the idea behind the boy.

A bully.

One hand stays pressed against the clown's chest, on his heart, the boy unaware that his touch was making Robert's scar from that old life pulse and throb, though shockingly without that familiar stabbing pain he has affiliated that nasty thing with, but a rather warm, sort of fluttery and soft, almost bubbly feeling erupts from that spot, while the fingertips of Bill's other hand brush over the starched ruff. He smiles up at Robert, "secretly" wanting to touch the man's painted face.

"You're _real_ enough for _me_."

Robert stares right back, also wishing they didn't have an audience as he steps out of the barrel and continues staring down at this remarkable boy who holds a power he knows not. He wasn't just talking about the Shine, however. The boy's willpower.

Words linger in the back of his mind, but he holds his tongue. Keeps his silence.

For now, at the very least.

He supposes he just wants to give them a little more time to actually be kids before all hell breaks loose, and he was certain it would before the end of August.

He helps Bill stand on his own two feet, the boy's knees and his legs wobbling, the shock of his actions and the adrenaline coursing through his veins now subsiding.

 _Wow_ , Robert thinks, smiling again as his eyes flicker from that stormy gray to that starry blue again, _he didn't even stutter_.

Bill stares up at him.

"Hey, how come your eyes keeping doing that?" he asks, still not stuttering.

Robert just shrugs, still smiling.

Bill lowers his eyes.

"That wuh-was s-scary," he whispers, almost breathless, a gloved hand settling on his shoulder and the other holding his hand, the one that wasn't still pressed against the clown's chest. Bill smiles, blissfully unaware; "A good kind of scary, though."

 _First there's a good kind of weird_ , _and now there's a good kind of **scary**_?

The clown thinks with a strange sense of fascination as the applauding continues, slowly lessening and quickly becoming replaced with commentary on the clown's performance. Bill's eyes glass over as he thinks how this had to be one of the best days of his life, aside from getting his wrist slashed open as if he was in some cheap version of _A Nightmare on Elm Street_.

"I know what could make this day better," Robert says, Bill looking back up at him. "Would you like to see a magic trick?"

Bill's eyes light up like fireworks in a dark sky.

"Ruh-Really?" he asks as Vitaly groans, audibly.

"You shut up," the clown tells the tiger, Bill openly laughing. "A couple of magic tricks, and Eddie and Connor will be stewing on it for the next month."

"You know muh-magic tricks?" Bill asks.

"I'm a clown in a circus full of animals," Robert says, "someone has to know magic tricks."

Vitaly snorts in amusement, baring his incisors at the clown in what he knows is a shit-eating, knowing grin.

Bill smiles widely, before a thought prods at the back of his mind, quickly rising to the surface. Robert frowns then, as does Bill....

"Wuh-Wuh-What t-t-t-tuh-time is it?" Bill asks, almost whispering, the sound feeble and frightened.

Robert closes his eyes as he thinks. Well, Billy had lunch at noon... she ruined Robert's pizza moment. Keeping track of the time was a new thing for him, he would admit. Not to Bill, not right now, at least. And it took another hour performing Van Dyke's show... he was positive it took another hour of looking through his magical artifacts and beating Freddy to a bloodied pulp. And introducing Bill to Vitaly took another hour, Robert not having had the heart to move Bill from the tiger... He was certain the performance on the hoops had taken another hour... Bill was capable of distracting him like that. He wasn't ashamed of that.

But, oh, how the time flew by.

"4:00," Robert says, not bothering to ask why Bill would want to know.

And Bill doesn't even ask how he knows that without looking at a watch or a clock.

"Oh," Bill says, nearly whispering.

 _An hour and thirty minutes_ , the boy thinks.

It wouldn't take long for him to run home with Georgie, well, biking would be faster, but still. Robert understands that Bill wants to get home before his dad does, which is at 5:30 and would give him thirty minutes to start preparing --

A vicious scowl forms on Robert's face as well as the faces of every single doll in the circus.

 _Let the fucker starve if he can't cook for himself_ , he thinks savagely.

He closes his eyes and lets the scowl turn back into a frown. He sighs deeply, though he doesn't need air, and reopens his eyes.

"Somewhere to be?" he asks, already knowing the answer.

"Yuh-Yeah," Bill says quietly, not wanting to be the one to put a damper on Georgie's good mood and to bring his friends down. "Muh-My d-d-duh-dad wuh-will b-b-buh-buh exp-puh-puh-p-puh --"

Bill grits his teeth, his cheeks flaring red with embarrassment and frustration as Robert lets go of his shoulder and his wrist, the clown realizing the height difference and promptly bending his knees so that his eyes were level with Bill's. His are gentle as Bill's start to water, frustrated and scared.

"It's summer," Robert says softly. "A boy should be out having fun with his friends."

 _Not worrying about what has to be the most ridiculous curfew ever_ , Robert thinks darkly. He knows why, because Bill's dad expects dinner on the table at 6:00. He's become quite... adamant... about time ever since Sharon left...

There was still the curfew for 7:00 due to the fact that Betty Ripsom, Ed Corcoran, Veronica Grogan, Patrick Hockstetter, and Richard Macklin, four kids and an adult, were all still missing, but that would still give Bill another three hours. Zack was giving him only one without even being here, and the boy was terrified to find out what would happen if he was late, his dad having warned him, numerous times, against it, every time before he left the house even for school. Robert is just barely able to hold his tongue on the fact that Bill shouldn't be worried about getting home early because of _that_.

I am huh-having f-fuh-fuhn," Bill says, smiling a watery smile. "Buh-Buh-But... huh-he duh-doesn't luh-like m-muh-me and Guh-Georgie b-buh-being l-luh-late."

 _His stutter is worsening_ , Robert thinks sadly. He knows it's fear, not his actual condition.

Robert sighs, a rather human action, he thinks, and then smiles tenderly.

"Tell you what, you let me show you at least one magic trick before you go. We've got to piss of Connor and make Eddie stew, don't we?"

Bill laughs again, watery yet delighted as another haiku manifests in Robert's mind. It reminds him of a teenage girl facing a king, even though in this situation it would be Bill facing his own father...

 _From dangers untold_ ,

 _And many cruel hardships_ , _unnumbered_ ,

 _I will protect you_.

Bill smiles at him even as he wipes at his eyes with the gauze on his wrist.

"Wuh-One t-truh-trick," Bill says, his tone firm but his smile gives him away.

"Just the one," Robert promises. He looks around the crowd. "One last performance for the day," he says, loud and clear, smiling at the groans that echo from the crowd.

He knows a few others that are actually expected home early, too. Not just Eddie and Beverly and Mike, either. One because of his mom's paranoia, the other because her dad genuinely misses her when she's gone, and the other because he has chores to do on his grandfather's farm.

Dorsey's mom expects him home since Ed and Richard went missing, though, Robert knows with a deep loathing, that she misses her _man_ more than _her own son_ , and Cheryl and Esther are expected home because Veronica went missing on Halloween, the two of them being the last people to see her. Henry and Connor are expected home because Henry has chores just the same, and if Henry goes, Connor has to, too. And therefore Belch and Vic would leave just the same.

Though, Robert is quite certain he's going to have to kick Stan out personally.

"Will Dorsey Corcoran, Cheryl Lamonica, Esther Sinclair, and Connor Bowers come down here, please?"

Robert takes a seat next to Vitaly, crossing his legs as he does, the tiger having laid down on the ground moments before, as Cheryl and Esther whisper excitedly to each other and Dorsey runs to keep up with the two of them.

The clown manifests a deck of cards, making it appear as though he pulled them out from Vitaly's ear, the tiger giving him a look.

Connor scowls as he comes forward, surprised but secretly pleased to have been picked for the clown's final performance. The only reason Robert had actually picked him because he didn't want the snot-nosed little jerk to accuse him of preparing it in any way. Of course, he wasn't David Copperfield, though if he wanted he could take on his form, but he wasn't ashamed to admit he was an asshole, so...

Vitaly's eyes narrow, his unimpressed look deepening as the clown smirks smugly as the kids sit in a circle. Of course, Cheryl, Esther, and Dorsey all keep a healthy distance away from Vitaly while Bill takes a seat right next to the massive tiger. Connor gives Vitaly a contemplative look, sneering all the while, as his blue eyes fall on the tail that swishes around Bill's ankles. Vitaly looks at the clown, inquiring.

"He stomps your tail, or even nudges you with his foot, you have every right to rip his face off," Robert says, his voice void of any emotion, not even looking at the boy or the tiger, as he pulls the cards from their box, ignoring the glare he gets from Connor as the boy sits next to Dorsey.

Robert smiles.

Not just any cards.

Bicycle.

"Magic isn't real," Connor says, folding his arms over his chest.

"Says you," Robert retorts, Vitaly shaking his his head with absolute disbelief before lying it on Bill's lap, curling his long body around Bill's smaller one, much to the shock and awe of many other kids.

Beverly and Georgie especially.

Though, as Robert stares at the backs of his cards, he can't help but recall seeing a fellow clown's face on them once before. A taunt, as he recalls. He shakes his heads as he sends the cards rapidly flying between his hands, earning himself a few shocked gasps. He smiles broadly as Vitaly rolls his eyes.

"Dorsey, I want you to take a look at these cards and I want you to tell me if they're normal. Not the cheating ones Mr. Bowers here already thinks they are," Robert says as he shows the cards to the boy, Connor's scowl deepening as Dorsey nods excitedly. "Now, I'm going to shuffle these around and when I'm done, I want you to pick one. But, I don't want you to look at it and you can't show it to anyone. I want you to keep it hidden and I want you to wait for me to show it to you, got it?"

Dorsey nods again, beaming.

Robert shuffles them around, making a display of balancing on the backs of his arms and grinning at the widening of multiple pairs of eyes before rapidly shuffling them again, grinning, ear to ear, at the flapping sound. He does it mostly to intrigue, and annoy, both Eddie and Connor, and to make Bill smile. He's quite successful as he extends them out to Dorsey.

"Pick."

Dorsey grabs one, not looking at it and not showing it to anyone.

"This one," he says happily.

"You sure?" Robert asks, giving him a sly grin. "You can change your mind if you want."

Dorsey stares at him, almost suspiciously, his childlike mind already registering the fact that surely the clown was really magic, before he takes the card and keeps it hidden, a defiant look in his eyes.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"Perfect," Robert says before tossing the cards all around, letting them fall to the ground, earning a few surprised sounds and a suspicious glare from Connor and, unsurprisingly, Eddie as well. "Now, for the rest of this, I need three of you to help make a decision. Cheryl, Esther, and Bill."

Cheryl bounces excitedly, Esther watching her with a strange expression on her face, while nodding eagerly, Dorsey watching happily. Connor simply rolls his eyes while Bill watches, that same moonlike trance becoming of his eyes even as his fingers trail over the back of Vitaly's neck.

"Now, in a deck of cards, there are two colors; red and black. Esther, pick a color."

"Um... black," Esther says.

"Black. Now, Cheryl, you agree that with the black cards, there are the Clubs and the Spades," Robert says. "Which one do you pick?"

Cheryl stares, swallowing from the purposeful intensity of the clown's stare and shivering as he purposefully grins creepily.

"Uh... the Clubs?"

"Clubs. That alright with you, Billy?"

"Yuh-Yeah," Bill says, beaming.

"Now, pick a number between one and thirteen," Robert instructs.

"Fuh-Four."

"Four!" Robert announces loudly. "Together, these three picked Black, Clubs, and Four. Which means together they made the Four of Clubs." He grins even more broadly. "Now, does that mean Dorsey's card is the Four of Clubs?" he asks, seeing the curious and interested looks on many faces. His grin turns sharp. "Well, that all depends on one person, doesn't it?"

He glances at Bill, his heart fluttering strangely even as his scar burns. He then looks at Connor.

"You get the final decision," he says. "Now, you can either side with the Four of Clubs --"

He lifts his index finger, waggling it as he draws out his next word, wanting to pluck the brat's eyeballs from his skull when he rolls them.

"-- **_or_ **\--" he draws out dramatically, "-- you can pick a card for yourself."

Connor's eyes flash smugly, because the boy is positive he's going to mess up the clown's trick. The boy smiles slyly.

"I choose the Queen of Spades."

Robert's grin becomes smug itself when quite a few kids start to yell "Boo!" at Connor's decision, including his own cousin. He grins even more widely.

"Now! All of you can agree with me that I would have _no idea_ \--" Vitaly snorts, Robert giving him a look, "-- that Cheryl, Esther, and Bill would pick the Four of Clubs. And you can also agree that I _couldn't possibly_ \--" Vitaly rolls his eyes. "-- know that Connor would decide to change the card and pick the Queen of Spades... or did I?"

Vitaly sticks his tongue out at the clown, making Bill laugh.

While the rest of the kids wait, breath bated with anticipation, Robert looks over to Dorsey and gives him a smirk.

"Look at the card, Dorsey."

Dorsey swallows and flips the card over, his eyes widening when he sees it.

"No freaking way!" he says, showing Cheryl the card first, nearly shoving his whole hand in her face before showing it to Esther and Bill, nearly smacking Connor in the face when he shows it to him before lifting up his arm in a childish attempt to show everyone. "It's the Queen of Spades!"

"WHAT?!"

Robert smirks smugly when nearly everyone starts to applaud, Connor sending him a pointed glare.

"That was just dumb luck!" he snaps. "That wasn't magic at all!"

Vitaly sets his chin on Bill's lap, giving the clown a look of disbelief as Robert gives Connor a sly smile. Not even a snake could be so slippery.

"You're absolutely right, Connor," he says, relishing in the gasps he hears. "After all, how can you know this wasn't only a chance, hm? And I know what Georgie's thinking."

"You do?" Georgie asks from his spot on the bleachers.

"What about the Four of Clubs?"

"I was thinking that!" Georgie announces happily, a few kids giggling.

"If you want, Connor, you can peek at all of the cards on the ground and try to find it, buy you won't," Robert says, smiling. "It's not on the ground, I haven't any pockets to hide it in, and it's not on me, and it's certainly not in anyone else's pocket," he says, looking at Dorsey again. "So, where is the Four of Clubs, then?"

He smirks.

"Dorsey, don't you think that card you're holding is a little bit too... what's the word? Thick?"

Dorsey blinks with surprise as he looks back down at the card, his eyes widening as his mouth falls open.

"You'll catch flies like that," Robert says with a chuckle, looking away. "Tear the Queen of Spades apart, please." The cards split, loudly. "There's another card inside, isn't there?"

"Yes!" Dorsey says, jumping excitedly.

"And which card would that be?"

"It's the Four of Clubs!"

Robert smiles as he hears screams of awe at his performance, more clapping.

"Huh-How'd you do that?" Bill asks, beaming as Connor storms away, Dorsey handing the clown back the cards as Esther and Cheryl start to pick them up, their hands brushing and Esther jumps back, her cheeks turning red, while Cheryl just smiles at her happily.

Robert can sense it, especially as Esther, with incredibly warm cheeks, hands him the cards she picked up. Cheryl is not so aware, he knows.

"A magician never reveals his secrets, Billy," Robert says pleasantly as he picks up the rest of his cards and puts them back into the box, Esther and Cheryl returning to the bleachers with Dorsey on their heels. He looks back at Bill, "Do you really have to go so soon? I could do another, if you'd like. And Vitaly will miss you."

Which translates to; _I'll miss you_.

Bill lowers his eyes as Cheryl and Esther, the latter's face still red, talk excitedly about the magic trick, trying to figure out how the clown had done it. A lot of the kids are starting to leave the tent, mindful not to step to close to the tiger as Georgie and his friends make their way towards him and the clown. Georgie is running frantically, excitedly, with Bill's books and both his and Bill's doll in his arms.

Robert doesn't look away from Bill even as Vitaly's eyes suddenly flash, the tiger jumping up and leaping from Bill's person within seconds as Eddie lets out the shrillest, sharpest scream and Georgie is knocked to the ground, not hard enough to actually hurt him, because that is not at all Vitaly's intention, and instead the tiger simply butts his head into Georgie's stomach, making the boy fall on his back, more kids jumping in shock, a few more also screaming, just as Robert smiles widely.

Vitaly lets out a low bellow as he lies back down, resting his chin on Georgie's chest to keep the boy in place while everyone else watches, Beverly with an awed look on her face as though she can't believe what she's seeing while Eddie watches with genuine terror as he pulls himself and Richie far away even as everyone watches Vitaly lick Georgie's nose, like an oversized, playful cat, and the boy giggles.

Bill stares at the two with a soft smile, having also jumped when Vitaly had. He didn't actually think Vitaly would hurt Georgie, but to see such a massive beast move so quickly, fast as lightning, was surprising.

"Huh-He's ruh-really g-guh-gentle, isn't he?" Bill asks, a softness in his eyes.

"Only to special people," Robert says, Bill's lips twitching into a smile as Vitaly's tail sways from side to side, the tiger staring into Georgie's eyes as each of his massive forepaws rest on either side of the boy's head as he keeps playfully licking Georgie's nose. Georgie wipes it away and Vitaly does it again, Georgie unable to stop laughing. "He always loved hearing the children applauding his performance even though he hates the old owners."

Connor just shakes his head, disbelieving and unimpressed, and storms out of the tent. Henry watches, surprised and also slightly concerned for Georgie's wellbeing, then supposes that even if Vic does try anything, the tiger can eat him.

Eddie cannot help himself, however, despite the sugary sweet moment happening before his very eyes.

"Do you have any freaking idea --" he hisses through gritted teeth, his eyes blazing, but the clown just cuts him off.

"Yes," he says bluntly, looking through his cards before stopping at the Ace of Hearts. He looks up at Bill, feeling bubbly and fluttery again. "You don't have to go so early, you know. There's three more hours before the curfew."

"I knuh-know," Bill says, smiling and feeling happy to know he has a good friend in the clown. Even if Robert doesn't know the extent about his dad -- the clown lowers his eyes, but he will not be shamed -- but Bill knows he's a good person. He's Bill's _friend_ , after all.

Richie blinks with shock at those words.

"Wait, you're fucking _leaving_? What the hell, man?" he asks, well, _demands,_ surprised. "I thought that shit was just during the school year."

Bill lowers his eyes, too.

"Nuh-No," he says quietly. "Huh-He wuh-wuh-wants m-muh-me huh-home on t-tuh-time..."

"What a bunch of bull," Richie says, unabashed. He looks at the clown. "I mean, what time is it?"

"4:00," Robert says quietly.

"Seriously? There's three more fucking hours before the curfew!" Richie says, unhappy.

Bill just shrugs, feeling guiltier by the minute even though it isn't his fault and he knows that his friends know that. Vitaly flexes his claws, the tiger having the very same thoughts about as the clown on Zack Denbrough. The very same thoughts, clear as crystal, especially as he makes eye contact with the clown.

 _Junk food_ , the tiger thinks, unashamed.

The clown cannot argue.

"Well, if you're leaving, so am I," Beverly says, her loyalty to Bill unwavering. "My dad's the same way, I get it," she says, offering him a smile that he returns. "Besides, there's a whole summer ahead of us. There's always tomorrow or the next day." She smiles at the clown, then, grabbing her ripped sleeve. "You said you can fix this, right?"

"Yes," he says quietly. "Bring it in tomorrow."

"I get it, man," Mike says, also offering Bill a smile. "I might not even be able to hang out with you guys tomorrow, I got chores to do. My grandpa's got me on a curfew, too."

"My mom," Eddie says quietly, Richie nodding and pointing a finger at him.

Stan nods, too, albeit reluctantly. His dad doesn't have him on such curfews, but he gets it. Ben doesn't want to stay if Beverly doesn't, but he doesn't blame Bill as much as he thought he did. Especially if her dad wants her home at an exact time, too. Richie won't stay if Eddie doesn't, and Stan, Richie, and Bill know, all too well, that Mrs. K wants him home sooner rather than later. So if the rest of the Losers are going, Stan is, too.

Robert gives the Ace of Hearts card one last glance before putting it away, closing the box before dispelling it before their very eyes. Ben stares.

"How'd you do that?" he asks, curious.

Robert just puts a finger to his lips, smiling, though it is a rather bitter thing. He doesn't fault any of the Losers, especially not Bill. He can tell Stan doesn't want to be alone in the circus, even though he practically hogs the Milano and the Benatar. Dorsey is preparing to leave, too, all on his own since Ed is gone -- guilt stings the clown's insides -- but his eyes drift over to Esther, who is staring at Cheryl's backpack with a determined look on her face.

"What are you doing?" the clown whispers, still watching Esther, as Bill stands, not wanting to look at his friends even though he knows none of them are lying, only trying to make him feel better by being empathetic.

"Yuh-Yuh-You guh-guys duh-don't huh-have to guh-go," he says, smiling awkwardly.

"Hey, come on," Beverly says, nudging him with her arm. "Friends stick together anyway, and that includes dealing with shitty curfew times."

 _Circus stick together_ , Vitaly thinks warmly, though he blinks with confusion when Robert stands up himself, but instead of interacting with Bill any further, he walks over to the Sinclair girl, who is now fiddling with Cheryl's backpack.

She jumps, squeaking with fear, when Robert puts a hand on her shoulder, her fingers fumbling with the zipper of Cheryl's bag. She stares up at the clown, petrified even though his face is calm if not soft. Even as the girl lowers her eyes and shows him a sealed envelope.

Vitaly cannot help but roll his eyes, however, when Eddie whispers frantically to Richie;

"Is he seriously going to walk away and leave us with a _fucking **tiger**_?"

Bill just gives them another awkward smile, lowering his eyes as Ben stares at him with a look that comes off as though he's blaming him. Bill can't fault him for that, but he doesn't know that Ben is worried about him, too.

"Wuh-We c-cuh-can huh-hang out t-tuh-tomorrow," Bill says quietly. "Wuh-When he fuh-fixes y-uh-your sluh-sleeve. I duh-don't wuh-want to druh-drag you guh-guys duh-down."

"It's fine, Bill," Richie says, also giving him a friendly smile as he claps him on the shoulder. "I mean, other than buses with one way tickets straight to Hell itself, what's so great about this place, anyway?"

 _Robert_ , Bill thinks instantly, almost saying it out loud, once again smiling a moony-like smile once more.

If he had to have a favorite part of this circus, he would definitely say it was the clown.

Stan smiles, hopeful and childish.

"Think I could get a birthday party here?" he asks.

Richie rolls his eyes as Beverly smiles at him, Ben frowning. He regrets that his birthday has already passed, now wishing he could've spent it with Beverly. Mike lowers his eyes as he starts to think. His birthday is coming up. His grandfather usually makes him a cake and gets him some clothes. Maybe... maybe he'd let him have a party here, too...

He looks back up at the kids he can honestly call his friends, then down at his football... maybe they'd like to hang out with him at his grandfather's farm and play with him...

"Probably," Eddie says, still staring at Vitaly, who is still lying on top of Georgie. "Is anyone going to help him? Bill?"

The tiger just rolls his eyes as he stands, licking Georgie's nose one last time as he watches the clown talk to an awkward looking Esther, the girl's cheeks pink and her eyes downcast. He just shrugs. That is not his business, anyway. He butts his head against bill's hand one last time before departing, leaving the tent and parting the crowds as he does.

"I can't believe that fucking thing let you pet him," Eddie says, sighing with relief even though his eyes are still wide with shock. "I mean, is that fucking thing even _tamed_?"

"Nuh-No," Bill says. "And V-Vuh-Vitaly's nuh-not a thing, Eds. And Ruh-Rob-bert knuh-knows huh-he could r-ruh-rip a luh-leg off."

Richie raises an eyebrow.

"Does he speak from experience?" he asks.

"Yes," Bill says, smiling at the fearful whimper that escapes Eddie, the boy nearly gagging at the mental imagery.

"He has a jaguar, too!" Georgie says excitedly as he stands up.

Beverly blinks, her eyes lighting up.

"Really? Where'd he get them?" she asks.

"C-Circus Z-Zarag-guh-goza," Bill says.

"Well, that doesn't explain why he lets wild animals roam freely!" Eddie says angrily. "I mean, the sheep and the horses and that pig, that's one thing --"

"That horse was a jerk," Ben says bluntly, Beverly laughing and wrapping her arms around his shoulders, pressing her cheek against his, making his own turn impossibly pink as he smiles, dorky.

"-- but if they're not _tamed_ \--"

"Oh, by no means is Vitaly tamed, Eddie Bear," Robert says simply, having returned during their conversation, his eyes having gone soft for a reason Bill doesn't understand. "None of them are. Not Vitaly, not the stallion, not Gia or the triplets, certainly not the dogs, or even the elephants, and definitely not Sonya," he says simply. He knows, firsthand, that none of them are tamed. He has the scars from Vitaly and the stallion to prove it. "Taming an animal means you don't respect it."

"So, you're an animal lover," Beverly says, grinning childishly as she continues hugging a happy looking Ben. "That's awesome."

She's always loved animals, too. Jaguars, coincidentally, being her favorite.

Eddie, however, cannot help himself. He even smacks the back of his hand against the palm of the other one, just as he did back in the underground clubhouse, as to emphasize his point.

"You've seen him! He's huge! I didn't think tigers got that fucking big!" Eddie snaps, his voice quick. "I mean, he doesn't even have a handler! He could rip a man's leg off if he wanted!"

Bill smiles sheepishly as the clown chuckles.

"There is no _could_ , Eds," Robert says, relishing in the terrified look that forms on Eddie's face, the lingering fear rolling off him in waves. "It's a matter of will and won't. He can, any time he wants. He tried that once," he says, remembering the moment fondly. "It didn't end well."

"Well, do you have anything big planned for tomorrow?" Mike asks curiously, mostly wanting to change the subject, though he would admit, Vitaly was pretty cool.

"A few in mind," the clown says pleasantly. "The dogs might perform," he says, though in reality, he knows they would sooner smash the nearest glass bottles and try to stab him with them than ever dance again. "Or Alex might. The lion."

He gives Bill a soft smile.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay a little longer? Even for dinner? I could see if Tiffany wouldn't mind cooking up some nice Swedish meatballs, or Pamela might make you something else."

"Wuh-Well," Bill says, smiling shyly to cover up the fact that he hated having to be the one to ruin the good mood. "Muh-Maybe t-tuh-tomorrow."

"Tomorrow then," Robert says as Bill takes Georgie's hand.

Beverly bites her lip, her lips quirking. She can see they aren't the only ones leaving. Esther and Cheryl as well as Dorsey and Henry and his goons are leaving. It's partially because of the 7:00 curfew, and specifically with Cheryl, Esther, and Dorsey, their parents are surely frantic because Ed and Veronica are still missing. Betty and Patrick, too.

Though, personally, Beverly does not miss that last one.

Robert's eyes lower sadly, Beverly able to tell that it was hurting him to see them leaving so soon. She beams when she sees that Vic, Connor, and Belch are glaring, pointedly, heatedly, at them.

"You know..." she says, slowly as she formulates her plan in her head, "... it really _is_ dangerous to be walking home alone... even with us in a group of eight... I mean, if we're all going out now... we're going to split up eventually..." she looks up at him, shy but determined. "Maybe you could... walk us all home?"

Robert blinks.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

 _Wait_ , _what_?

He didn't expect that. He knew never to underestimate anyone, these seven kids especially, but where the hell did that come from? The rest of the boys stare confusedly at her just the same, though Georgie and Bill are both looking quite hopeful.

"What?" Richie asks for the clown.

Beverly just points, silently, at Belch, with an unimpressed look on her face, and he flips her off in return. She smiles at the clown.

"I see your point," Richie says, now getting it.

"I mean... safety in numbers," Stan says quietly.

"Especially with an adult," Eddie adds.

Robert cannot help but chuckle at the irony of this entire situation. The sheer unreality of it.

"I wasn't aware I was going to become a shield for you, Miss Marsh," he says, but not unkindly. She gives him a shit-eating grin, of course.

They all completely miss the fact that he didn't say _human_ shield.

"Yeah, well," Beverly says, still grinning toothily. "You walking us home or not, Clowny?"

"That depends," Robert says, simply smiling knowingly even though he knows, in a way, that he's going to regret this later. "Who wants to walk me home to protect them from the Big Bad Bowers Gang?"

Eight hands go up, Georgie's only going up after Bill's does. He knows that six hands are up because they honestly want "protection" (the irony is morbidly humorous and he knows Chucky is going to mock him later) while Bill and Georgie just don't want the moment to end yet. They don't want to have to say goodbye to him yet.

"Alright then," Robert says, seeing no harm in it. He could see through the eyes of the dolls, after all. None of the kids were in danger, and Pamela and Vitaly were in charge in his absence, so nothing was going to happen in his circus. Of course, Vitaly was currently ushering the animals inside as they were speaking, courtesy of the Big Bad Bowers Gang. "I do hope you'll play more games next time."

Bill's eyes lower as he thinks about the turtle plush he saw, staring at his little brother's empty hands, save for his and Bill's dolls, and Bill's books. Bill knows that Georgie hasn't gotten any prizes yet, just as Ben hasn't. Bill doesn't know what Ben would like, but he knows Georgie loves turtles, their his favorite animal, after all. He supposes he could play a game to win it for him.

 _Tomorrow_ , he thinks, not really wanting to go yet.

Robert, however, frowns, pointedly.

 _ **Turtle** plush_?

 _He_ didn't put a turtle plush out as a prize. Why the hell would he? His first instinct is to think that Freddy might've done it before Robert killed him, but that doesn't make any sense, because Freddy doesn't have his powers in the conscious world, only the dream one. And nobody besides Freddy would know about Maturin, except for her, but she sure as hell wouldn't do it...

... so who the hell --

"So, what games are you guys going to play tomorrow?" Beverly asks as she too leaves the tent, Richie and Eddie following, then Stan and Mike, then Bill and Georgie. Though, as neither nor the clown nor Ben move, Bill can't help but look back, wondering, before smiling. Their chatter dies away, leaving Ben and Robert as the last two in the tent...

One because he was internally panicking, and the other because he was upset. Of course, Ben feels like a jerk for being upset and jealous, but he can't help it.

Yet the clown cannot help but think about how very easily he could kill Ben right now. Just as he knows he won't.

Ben lowers his eyes and Robert closes his own when he smells the putrid rank of sadness the boy is currently emitting.

"Stings, doesn't it?" Robert asks quietly, Ben looking up at him.

Ben nods, understanding the implication behind the clown's words.

"Was it that obvious?" he asks, his belly feeling jittery and awkward.

Embarrassment, just the same, Ben hoping only the clown noticed.

"Georgie noticed," Robert says, thinking of how Georgie was the one who suggested Ben and Beverly look for their dolls together. "You know there's a whole summer to be a dork in love, don't you?"

"Yeah, but..." Ben lowers his eyes again, "... how can I get her to notice me, when all she does is look at Bill?"

"She likes you just fine, I'm sure," Robert says, wondering if this was his additional punishment. Of course, he knows she likes Ben just fine and as much as she likes Bill; she's actually quite sweet on Ben because nobody has ever been kind to her. Nobody ever wrote her a poem before. "You've got a whole summer to be a dork. I'm sure you can think of something to catch her eye."

Ben's mind drifts to the poem just the same.

"I hear some girls like poetry," the clown adds knowingly, Ben smiling. "Haiku is particularly good this time of year."

Ben nods, but then frowns.

"Yeah, but..." he thinks of how Beverly had punched Gretta in the pharmacy. She had gotten mad when Gretta had called him fat, but... "Do you think she would even like _me_?"

 _You're asking the wrong being_ , Robert thinks grimly.

"If she doesn't like you just because you've got jelly rolls, then she isn't worth it," he says even though he knows Beverly doesn't care about that. "Besides, those just mean there's more of you to love."

 _And eat_ , he thinks but doesn't say.

Ben smiles.

"Thanks, for the advice," he says.

"Now beat it," Robert says, making Ben's smile grow.

He can see the jumble of thoughts forming in Ben's mind as he leaves the tent, already thinking of the poems he could write. A haiku, just as the clown had suggested. He had written about Beverly's hair, how it reminded him of a fire in winter, and her eyes were so pretty...

 _If there is a hell for me_ , Robert thinks, _I'm going there_.

He was starting to think he was more human than most humans.

He too leaves the tent, thinking of his conversation with Esther.

 _I'm going soft in my old age_ , the clown thinks morosely.

Maturin had been 20 billion years old around the time of his death. On a technicality, Robert supposed that translated to 20 in human years. But that was what was concerning him. Maturin was _dead_. He'd been dead for many universal years already, and he didn't play games like that anyway and had never interfered when the Deadlights hunted humans before. So, he could not help but wonder what in Gan's name a turtle plush was doing in his circus. She would have his head if she knew, he thinks grimly...

He stops in his tracks, his eyes widening...

 _Wait a minute_...

Confusion and something akin to an icy trickle of fear start to form deep inside of his void like being. Robert... had never _told_ Freddy about Maturin. Freddy never _knew_ about Maturin, even when he asked him to keep her contained in the dream world. It wouldn't have been until _after_ Robert had killed him that he might've have found out about the turtle... and Robert knew, he knew all too well, that she would never have done it, not that she could have even manifested such a thing on her own. Nobody besides Robert knew about Maturin and the rivalry that existed between turtle and "spiders"... his heart starts to race. Who the hell could have --

"Hey, you coming?" Ben's voice calls.

He likes the clown, too. He likes the performances well enough, but mostly he's grateful to him because of his advice.

Robert closes his eyes. It wasn't unlikely that Freddy could have done it while in the dream world... he was altering reality by the sixth installment, erasing Carlos, Spencer, and John Doe from reality...

That _had_ to be the explanation... and that was just Freddy being a dick.

She wouldn't have done it, he knew that for a fact, she couldn't have anyway, and she was locked away in the dream world.

He shakes his head as he lets the tent flap fall behind him, unaware of the fact that his own face was smiling back at him from where the Other Robert was sitting on the bleachers, his red clown smile stretched out, ear to ear, his black button eyes gleaming. He speaks, low and quiet, a note of hope and anger in his voice. One clown's hope, another's anger. A mix between the two;

"And it wasn't even me."

"She's so pretty!" Georgie says, staring happily at the giant turtle plush.

 _A sea turtle_ , Robert thinks grimly as he stares up at the plush toy. The dark brown colored eyes, made of plastic, are giving off warm, maternal waves that are nothing short of terrifying for him. The rest of it is a variety of earthy and vibrant shades of green. And as he stares at it, he has only one thing to say;

 _I hate you_ , he thinks grimly as Bill lowers his eyes.

The boy wants to play the game, popping the balloons (Robert loathes irony), and win Georgie the turtle, but his fear of his dad is keeping him from doing that. He just doesn't want to be late and as much as Robert wants to see Bill smile, he also wants to get this thing out of his circus. It's a win-win.

"Tuh-Tuh-Tom-muh-morrow, Guh-Georgie," Bill says quietly.

Georgie, the sweet boy he is, doesn't even look disappointed. He's getting it either way, so he's happy for that.

"Might be gone tomorrow," Richie says, the three boys the only ones around as everyone else starts to collect their backpacks, Stan saying a reluctant farewell to Gamora, who simply pats him on the head with a smile.

Robert breathes, though a creature like him needs no air, before reaching into the collection of toys hanging and pulling the offending plush down. It is almost as big as him, in length for the toy and height for him. Nearly six feet long, though he holds it up with only one hand, around the neck, of course. Bill stares with wide eyes as the clown hands the turtle to Georgie, the boy jumping up and down and squealing happily as he takes it with both hands, nearly collapsing under the weight.

"Yuh-You didn't huh-have to duh-do that," Bill says, staring up at him with a disbelieving smile.

Richie looks between the clown and Bill as the former bends down again, so that his eyes are level with Bill's as Georgie runs around excitedly, screaming his little heart out.

 _Moony eyes_ , Richie thinks.

 _Beep_ , _beep_ , _Richie_ , the clown thinks.

"There's always tomorrow," Robert says simply, his tone pleasant. "Guess you owe me a game of popping the balloons."

"Guh-Guess s-suh-so," Bill says, smiling a dork's smile.

 _Gay_ , Richie thinks, staring at Bill.

Richie knows, all too well, what it's like to have a crush. He just didn't peg Bill for the kind of kid to be into older people, guys in particular. And, of course, Richie being Richie, now he can't help but wonder just how old the clown is.

Robert lowers his eyes as he thinks of Esther again, the girl grabbing her backpack and leaving. He sighs as he sees, through her doll's eyes, that she has the envelope in her other hand. Yet she's smiling as she heads for the door, Cheryl next to her.

It is so ridiculous it's almost funny that Robert of all beings would walk the Losers and Georgie home considering their shared pasts, though only he knew about that. He supposes he just has to find a way to forget about that. One way, or another.

Of course, he can sense the lingering idea in Belch's thoughts, as he and the Bowers cousins and Vic all get into his car, that the teen actually wants to run the clown over as he nearly did to Mike in that alley. Henry doesn't think about that, however, and instead thinks pleasant thoughts about the fact that his belly was far more full than it had been in _years_. He also gorged himself on a pizza. Connor glares at the Losers and the clown as he gets into the car, slamming the door shut and snapping right back at Belch after he yells at him. Vic just rolls his eyes, bored out of his mind even though he did like the tiger.

The Losers walk on their bikes rather than ride them, namely because most of their hands are full of their prizes, though Mike does offer his basket to them. To the clown, aside from the stream of chatter, for they are such inquisitive little children, the hot summer sun above their heads blazing in the blue sky is nice. For the first time in a long time, he enjoys the company of others that aren't Georgie and Roberta, occasionally Freddy when they used to compare kills like teenagers comparing something much more mundane. It's almost peaceful, even.

It almost makes it easier to pretend that he's something he's not. That he's someone he isn't.

"What other animals do you have?" Beverly can't help but ask, curious.

"Sonya. The black bear. Alex, the lion, obviously," Robert says, smiling. "And a few others. I guess you'll have to come back to find out."

Eddie whimpers at the mere idea of it, more scared of the idea of coming back than he is of the bear.

"Don't get too worked up," Robert says. "Sonya doesn't let anyone other than Circus Zaragoza near her. Not after..."

He goes quiet. The implication is clear, all of the Losers understanding, Bill more than the rest. Georgie doesn't understand, but he doesn't ask either. The clown shakes his head and looks at Eddie.

"Other than complaining about my bus, which was ten tons of fun, anything else you going to do or see?"

"Well, I mean... none of it is actually safe --"

"If everything were safe, nothing would be fun," Beverly says.

"That," Robert agrees.

"Well, do you have any actually _fun_ games in your circus?" Richie asks.

"My games _are_ fun," Robert says. He grins again. "But if you must know, there is a very special arcade game with your name on it."

Richie's eyes light up just as Eddie's darken and even Stan groans. Both boys hate playing _Street Fighter_ with Richie, because he always wins. Always. And Eddie is less inclined to play arcade games after what happened with Connor.

"Better be _Street Fighter_ ," Richie says, grinning now.

" _Mortal Kombat_ ," Robert says.

"Oh, what's that?" Beverly asks.

None of them have even heard of it yet, of course.

"Only the best fighting game ever," Robert says.

"Bullshit," Richie says at once.

"Bull-true," Robert says.

"I bet I could beat it," Richie says.

"No, you can't," Robert says.

"Why not?"

"Because that's just ridiculous," the clown says. "No one beats Sub-Zero."

"Bet I'll be the first," Richie says, nudging Eddie while still grinning and his grin widens at the scowl he receives.

Mike just chuckles even though he feels awkward. Robert knows why, because these guys have known each other longer. The Losers were kind to him, saved him when they didn't have to, but he still feels like a stranger to them even though Ben and Beverly haven't actually known them for that long either. Of course, Mike doesn't actually know that.

"So... other than the circus..." Mike starts awkwardly, "... you guys going on any, summer trips, or something like that? Or got something else in mind?"

Beverly just shrugs. She smiles, then grins, as she remembers swimming at the quarry. Now, that had been fun. She had liked the attention the boys had given her, had enjoyed hanging out with them, Georgie especially, and then she realizes.

She points at Mike, beaming.

"You weren't with us at the quarry!"

Mike stares at her, blinking incomprehensively, unsure of what he's supposed to say next.

"Uh... no," he says, confused.

"We could all go swimming again. All nine of us!" she says, still grinning.

"I think you mean eight," Richie says, pointedly looking at the clown.

"No, _nine_ ," Beverly says, also pointedly looking at the clown.

Mike blinks again as he cracks a smile, then a grin, his heart and belly feeling warm. He likes Beverly. Not like _that_ , but she's a good friend. She did save his life after all.

"That water --" Eddie is about to start but Georgie blows a raspberry at him.

"I'd like that," Mike says, still grinning.

"Just a fair warning, you get to see girl underwear," Richie says, grinning.

"You liked it," Beverly retorts, holding back the other thing she wants to say but she won't embarrass Richie like that.

 _Not as much as you liked Eddie's underwear_ , she thinks.

The clown presses a gloved hand to his face.

 _Children_ , _I'm stuck with children_... _oh_ , _right_...

"That suh-sounds cuh-cool," Bill says, now smiling, too. He frowns as Richie stares at him, still grinning. "The suh-swuh-swimming, Ruh-Richie."

Beverly just laughs as she turns back to the clown, and behind his fingers his eyes widen.

"You could hang out with us, too, you know. At the quarry?" she says, grinning as she quickly conjures up an excuse. "You know, to protect us from Bowers."

He lowers his hand, giving her a look.

"I've seen you throw a rock from across a stream and nail a kid right in the head," he says. "You don't need protection."

They stare. He can sense their surprise as well as their curiosity. Of course, he can see that Beverly, and Bill as well as Georgie, all honestly want him to join them at the quarry.

"Imagine minding your own business, just taking a stroll through the Barrens and seeing a bunch of teenagers, and a kid, throwing rocks at each other," Robert says coolly, but not too quickly. Beverly's cheeks turn warm as she flushes, but she has no regrets. None of them do, he knows, and he can't blame them. He did throw one himself, after all. And Henry had had it coming for _years_." Personally, I'm surprised so many of you have such good aim. You could take up baseball or something like that."

"Or football," Mike says, his eyes straying to his ball again. He bites his lip, unsure of himself, his insecurity bubbling in his belly. He doesn't think his grandfather would mind if he had friends over, they do have a lot of land that they could play on... and his grandfather was often trying to get him to make new friends... "You guys could... you know... maybe hang out at my place? My grandfather's farm. We could play football."

"Girls can't play football," Richie says.

Beverly raises an eyebrow.

"I beat Connor's ass and you're telling me I can't play football?" she asks.

"Okay, fair point," Richie says. "Just don't tackle Ben."

"No promises," she says, nudging Ben who smiles.

"That suh-sounds fuh-fun, tuh-too," Bill says. "The quh-quarry and fuh-footb-buh-ball, buh-but G-Guh-Georgie's tuh-too smuh-small."

"Dude, I've seen him outrun you," Richie retorts. "He'll be fine."

Beverly is about to ask the clown if he wants to "hang out" and "play" football, too, but Ben offers to walk her home from there on out, and smiling, she accepts.

"Dorks," Richie says as they depart.

Beverly just flips him off as they walk away, her back facing the boy.

Richie and Eddie leave next, going together. Robert can't fault them, because already Sonia is frantic about her son as she always is and always will be.

"Later, Losers," are Mike's departing words as he climbs onto his bike and heads to his grandfather's farm, Stan also leaving and instead taking the long way home.

The sun is only just now starting to set on the horizon, Robert sees, a beautiful orange sky quite alike his own form staring back down at him as they walk down Bill's street. He can sense the lingering worry deep within Bill as he can sense the childish joy Georgie feels as he runs ahead of them, holding the turtle plush up with both of his hands, as he imagines her -- the boy adamant that the turtle is a _female_ \-- swimming through outer space, dozens upon hundreds of eggs that greatly resemble the whitest and purest of pearls adorning her shell.

Robert lowers his eyes as he thinks.

Maturin never bothered to interfere, always believing that everything was not without a reason. He gave her world's Bill Denbrough words of wisdom during that first battle of wills, Robert thinks. He thinks he's remembering that correctly. It's becoming fuzzy, his own memories starting to fade. Maturin died before the second Ritual of Chud, the second battle of wills between Losers and the Female, though they always referred to her as It, as she never cared much for human terms, and it resulted in her death as well as her children.

He closes his eyes as he remembers their terrified screams, some of them having already hatched... trying to desperately flee from the human -- that world's Ben Hanscom -- that was stomping at them and their unborn siblings. The _defenseless_. A desperate search for -- not mother _exactly_ , but _creator_ \-- human terms inapplicable -- but she too was killed after her unborn and the hatched...

His eyes sting and water, a humanlike thing, pain and loss flickering deep within the void that is his heart as he remembers those towering eggs filling the dark cavern deep underneath Derry's sewer system... black and broken chitin and bone splattered across the cavern floors, Ben's shoes soaked with their blackened blood and reeking of their deaths...

How very strange.

How very strange that a human being, the foulest thing any of Maturin's universes had to offer, could kill something as powerful, even when newly born, as a shapeshifter from the bowels of the Macroverse...

They had been creatures that existed outside of the construct of space and time. Existing in each universe simultaneously before that first battle of wills, though Robert had only ever faced one. Not two.

Dozens, hundreds even, of voices, Robert thinks depressively, suddenly crying out, the born and the unborn, before being silenced...

"Yuh-You ok-kuh-kay?" Bill asks, staring up at the clown, who has that upset look again.

Misery.

Robert opens his eyes, Bill not very surprised to see that they've become stormy gray again.

"No," the clown says truthfully. "I'm... remembering."

"Suh-Sad things," Bill says, understandingly. "I ruh-ruh-remember suh-sad things, tuh-too."

He lowers his eyes as he thinks of his mom. Robert, without knowing, had _helped_. By showing him Vitaly. He's still sad about it, and he knows he'll always be sad about it, but he has his friends and his brother. He has Robert, too, now. He knows that in a way he doesn't fully understand yet.

"Yuh-You wuh-want to tuh-talk abuh-bout it?" he asks softly.

He doesn't really expect Robert to open up to him, but he understands nonetheless. He doesn't talk about his problems, but he does have friends to help him get through them.

"No," Robert says, somewhat truthfully.

Only Freddy knows about that. Freddy and himself know about what happened in that past life. Georgie and Roberta, Henrietta and all the others, though Robert has yet to meet them, and he doubts he will, only know bits and pieces.

A spider's web is what makes up a Deadlight, in a sense.

It is, after all, the most comparable thing to Robert's own true form, although lately he has been seeing that form less and less in his mirrors. He sees a more human face, the one he wears as a mask, rather than those endless, crawling lights that make up his being. Piping music and a void of light, that was his true form.

Or, at the very least, it _had_ been.

The self induced starvation had made that light flicker and dim, dwindle and begin to die.

Then he killed Freddy.

That power would surely last him the whole summer, but he cannot help but hold that fear of her and her rage. Just as he cannot help but worry.

Maturin never interfered... and he was dead, he could not... but if there was another, just like him... could she?

"Wuh-When I'm suh-sad," Bill says, shaking the clown from his frightening and depressing thoughts. "I luh-like to spuh-spend tuh-time wuh-with the puh-puh-people I luh-love," he says, his eyes falling on Georgie, warmth flickering in their deep pools of emotion. "Luh-Like huh-him and muh-my fuh-friends." He looks up at the clown, offering him a small smile. "You huh-have fuh-fuh-friends at the c-circus, duh-don't yuh-you?"

Robert gives a small shrug. He wouldn't really say that he and the animals of Circus Zaragoza are _friends_. He and Vitaly respect and trust one another; Vitaly respects him for killing their former owners for their cruelty and abuse of the animals just as he respects him for shrinking down that hoop to display his respect for the tiger, just as he respects him for giving the animals the abilty to communicate with humans, not just each other, as well as offering them food and shelter. And most importantly, _freedom_.

Robert respects Vitaly because he knows that tiger has a heart of gold underneath that crusty shell; he would give his life to protect those in need, whether it be his circus, which for them translated to family, or even Bill and Georgie or any of the other Losers or any child in need. The same way Robert would give his life for Bill.

The clown had been on friendly terms with Freddy, acquainted well enough, but they were too much alike to actually be friends. It didn't help that one was a psychotic sadist, a dream demon, who enjoyed tormenting and murdering children and teenagers in their sleep, harvesting their souls to gain power, and relishing off of the guilt and anguish it caused their parents. They felt no guilt for killing Freddy when they did; they regretted that he had found another way to torture them and their children.

And was getting away with it. Each and every time. Death didn't matter. Not to Freddy.

The clown is friendly enough with Chucky, he supposes. Though he guesses that's more of a display of dominance, a proving of who the "alpha dog" really is. Charles Lee Ray, doll or human, is well aware that should he try anything without Robert's say so, especially to any of the kids, whether it be the Losers or someone else, Robert will ensure that the doll will only _wish_ he was dead. Just as he knows that the clown can ensure every existing version of the doll there is can be erased in a matter of seconds from every world the Macroverse has.

He has told them, Chucky and Tiffany and even Pamela, bits and pieces about the kids, about the clown's past, and what he is trying to accomplish now. About why he really brought Freddy into this world. And promptly took him back out.

Brutally.

Tiffany is more kind to the clown than Chucky is. She actually has a heart underneath that plastic shell. Well, Chucky does, but he doesn't display it well. The point is, Tiffany, like the clown, does care about the wellbeing of the kids. He has told them, the dolls and Pamela, what quite a few of their parents are like. Including Betty Ripsom's mom as well as the Corcoran brothers' mom.

Both women want to help where they can, though it is a difficult thing. Pamela would be recognized immediately by Richie and Henry first and foremost, while Tiffany was stuck in the body of a bridal doll. That didn't mean, however, that they were incapable of killing, especially considering the fact that Tiffany found Alvin Marsh to be a disgusting pig (though Robert found that term insulting considering pigs were very compassionate animals), who she had even offered to gut if need be, while Pamela was willing to offer Beverly guidance if need be.

The clown could send them all back to their native universes if he wanted, but he saw no reason for it. Chucky was bored, that much was clear, but the clown had a feeling that Chucky would have his fun, soon enough. Pamela, however, had nobody since Jason's death. Robert had prevented her from making her fool's deal with the demons of the Necronomicon, prevented that dark path of bloodshed and carnage, though he had not stopped her from murdering Barry and Claudette. He could have, but he didn't.

He didn't know what he was going to do with the three of them, but that was a concern for another time.

"No, not really," Robert says quietly.

Bill stares up at him, confused.

"Buh-Buht wuh-what ab-buh-bout the anim-muh-mals?" he asks, his confusion showing on his little face. He didn't understand;' Robert was such a nice person and had a deep respect for animals, or as Beverly put it, he was an animal lover. Why the hell wouldn't he have friends? And all of those employees at the circus... "Wuh-What about V-Vuh-Vitaly?"

"We respect each other," Robert says softly, his eyes downcast. "That doesn't mean he considers me his friend."

The tiger fears him, yes, just as he respects him. The tiger doesn't fear the clown because he was like the former owners of Circus Zaragoza. To the beast's surprise, the clown was the exact opposite. He fears him because he is a creature unlike anything they have ever seen before. Not a man, not an animal. A beast, in a sense, but more of a being. Far more powerful, of course. Far more dangerous. Vitaly is grateful to the clown for what he has done for him and his circus, but fear was not friendship.

"Buh-But you muh-mentioned suh-someone nuh-named Tuh-Tiffany," Bill says quietly, still unable to believe what he was hearing. "a-and suh-someone nuh-named Puh-Pamela."

"I wouldn't call them friends either," Robert says quietly, almost sadly.

Tiffany respects him, Pamela too, just as they, too, fear him.

"I suppose they tolerate me," he says, figuring that to be the case.

The truth of the matter was, whether he liked it or not, he didn't have _friends_. Such a trivial thing to a being far older than time itself, one would think, but it did get quite lonely sometimes. Depressing, even.

Bill stares at him, unable to understand how that could be.

"Buh-But yuh-you're suh-so nuh-nice," he says. "Y-You truh-treat Vuh-Vitaly and those anim-muh-mals ruh-right and yuh-you cuh-care about the k-kuh-kids vuh-visting y-your circus. And yuh-you have a s-skill muh-most adults don't; buh-being able to tuh-tell the duh-difference buh-between the puh-person who starts the f-fuh-fight and who f-fuh-finishes it."

Robert can't help but chuckle softly, pleasantly amused.

"I don't care who starts it," he says. " _I_ finish it."

Bill cracks a smile even as he lowers his eyes, shy again, and the clown can sense why. He tries not to purposefully listen into thoughts anymore, but sometimes he can't help but hear things he knows he's not supposed to. Most things, when coming from adults, are things he'd rather not hear. Especially around Alvin Marsh or even Zack Denbrough.

The boy _likes_ him. Most ironically, Bill has compared him to a mystery novel. Even more ironically, Robert could compare himself to _murder_ mystery novel. Bill likes the clown because he is an actual adult (or at least _looks_ like one) and actually gives a crap about the kids in Derry, actually has a heart and doesn't put up with Bowers' crap. That the clown, an adult in Derry, is actually nice to him and his friends and Georgie.

 _Bill **likes** him_, even though he knows so little about the clown. That's where the mystery comes in. He wants to solve it, like a riddle or a puzzle, read the contents of what Robert's story has to offer and find himself deeply invested into it, like any good book, mystery novels especially, and still find himself surprised when he uncovers the truth, learns the secrets.

"I'm yuh-your fuh-friend," Bill says, his cheeks feeling quite warm, turning a pale pink, as his belly feels fluttery, as though those little butterflies are tickling him again.

Robert's eyes soften as he gazes about the boy, as though studying a painting.

"That's nice," Robert says, his voice pleasant.

Bill smiles, a think that shines under the light of the sun, as he lowers his eyes.

"Thuh-Thanks," he says, swallowing nervously as his stomach twists itself into funny little knots.

"For what?" the clown asks.

"Fuh-For wuh-walking us huh-home," Bill says, still smiling that small but sweet smile. "Yuh-You didn't ruh-really huh-have to buh-but you did. It wuh-was nuh-nice of you."

Robert shrugs again.

"Most people would consider it kind of creepy," he says.

"Yeah, wuh-well, you duh-don't s-strike muh-me as creepy," Bill says, understanding his point. "Buh-But wuh-we aren't s-strangers."

 _Now we aren't strangers_ , _are we_? The clown remembers asking Georgie all those months ago.

"You know, aside from Georgie and Roberta, you're the first kid to tell me I'm _not_ creepy."

"Ruh-Really?" Bill asks, faintly surprised.

His outfit wasn't brightly colored like most clowns outfits tended to be, he supposed, but Bill didn't think he was creepy at all. On the contrary, Bill thought he looked _cool_. Robert just smiles, a soft thing, at him.

"Really, really," he says. "It is the lack of bright colors. Most people say I'm intimidating and frightening."

Bill scoffs, though he's grinning a grin of absolute disbelief.

"Wuh-Well, I think y-yuh-you luh-look c-cool," he says. "You duh-don't intimidate or fuh-frighten muh-me."

His tender gaze stays on Bill even as they continue walking down the street, only one of their trio well aware of the stares they were receiving from Bill's neighbors. He doesn't care about that, but he has the disturbed feeling it's going to become a problem later. Especially considering how _nosy_ Bill's neighbors were. Just like Beverly's. The clown stares with faint surprise, though he doesn't show it, when he sees that Zack's car is absent from its usual spot, and the foul reek of cheap booze and misplaced anger and depression isn't currently stinking up the house, which means Zack isn't home.

Bill sighs as he notices this, too. The fact that the car, and therefore his dad, aren't present. Not the part about the smells.

"Huh," is all the clown says.

"Suh-Sorry," Bill says quietly. "Guh-Guess huh-he's l-luh-late."

Both Bill and the clown have similar thoughts about where Zack might be at. Either at the nearest bar to his work, drowning himself away in his sorrows and his angers, or simply dicking off as to not have to come home and actually take care of his children. Not that he's done that for the past few months, of course, the clown thinks with a scowl. Bill guesses he is grateful, because now his dad can't accuse him of being late or not having told him that he was going out.

Robert lowers himself down, bending his knees so that his eyes become level with Bill's just as he did back at the circus. Only this time Richie doesn't have colorful commentary in hi shead. He offers him a smile.

"Never be sorry," Robert says as he manifests something, the silver of it glinting under the sunlight.

He holds it before Bill with his index finger and his thumb, the boy smiling at it and not even inquiring where the clown must've been hiding it, because his doublet, nor his pantaloons, have pockets. He knows this is Vitaly's least favorite hoop as it was his favorite one, this hoop being the very one Robert had purposefully used magic to shrink down, making it no bigger than a ring for a pinky or the ring finger, as to show his respect for the tiger; to prove to him that he didn't expect him to jump hoops or perform any more circus shows, not if he didn't want to. Bill's eyes light up.

"Vitaly wants me to give this to you," Robert says, gently taking Bill's hand and laying the silver hoop on the boy's palm. Bill stares at it, the metal feeling cool against his skin. "This was the one he burned himself on, when Circus Zaragoza forced him through that burning hoop. I shrunk it down for him."

Bill thinks the clown _melted_ it down. That is not the case, but Robert isn't going to tell him that. Not right now at the very least.

"Are you sure?" he can't help but ask.

He's flattered, honored even, don't get him wrong, but it's Vitaly's...

Robert just grins at him.

"Only special people get such special gifts," he says softly, Bill's lips quirking into a watery smile as his eyes start to sting again. Though, they aren't tears of sadness and fear that well into his eyes. Robert points a finger at the hoop, "See, he always loved jumping the hoops, compared it to flying, even. He never disliked leaping through the hoops as he had been taught to do, but when they suggested lighting it on fire, you can imagine how he felt. He loves this hoop, because they were his passion. This one, in particular, he fears. Yet even though he fears it, he would jump through them again if it meant protecting the ones he loves. Whether or not it was lit with a risky flame."

A perfect parallel, he supposed.

"Solid silver, you know," Robert says, taking Bill's fingers and curling them around the hoop, taking the boy's hand into his own gloved ones.

 _It kills monsters_ , Robert thinks absentmindedly. _Werewolves_ , _mostly_.

"Ruh-Robert, thuh-thank you," Bill says, almost whispering, and sniffling as he smiles down at Robert's hands holding his own. "And thuh-thank Vuh-Vitaly, tuh-too."

"You can when you see him tomorrow," Robert says, "He likes you. And that does not come easy."

Bill just nods as his lips quirk, a question bubbling in his mind.

"Duh-Did huh-he ruh-really truh-try to buh-bite your luh-leg?"

"There is no try," Robert says pleasantly. "There is do, and do not. And oh, he did a lot more than bite it. Like I said, he nearly ripped it off when I came to close to him. That fact might scare Eddie, and it should. Animals like aren't meant to be boxed, and certainly not beaten."

"I agree," Bill says quietly, still smiling even as his cheeks start to feel incredibly hot, almost burning like a fire in the winter as another question forms in his mind. "Wuh-Wuh-Would y-you luh-like tuh-to c-come in fuh-for a muh-minute?" he asks, the clown looking curiously up at him, still holding his hand. "I muh-mean... it wuh-would buh-be ru-rude of muh-me nuh-not to ask..." he smiles shyly. "And honestly I duh-don't wuh-want you to guh-go yet."

Bill never knew a pair of eyes could look so alike a blue star.

Although, Robert supposes that better judgment, the fact that both he and Bill know Zack could show up at any minute, most likely drunk as a skunk and with a loose tongue and a need to vent out his frustrations, Bill likely to become his outlet, would encourage him to say no and for Bill to retract his offer. Robert doesn't say no, not exactly, and Bill doesn't take it back. Neither want to, of course.

"Wouldn't that be considered strange?" Robert asks. "To let a stranger in your house?"

"You aren't a s-stranger," Bill says. "Buh-Besides, huh-how can you nuh-not buh-be a stranger anym-muh-more if I duh-don't guh-get to knuh-know you?"

Robert chuckles.

"I suppose that's true," he says, lowering his eyes as Georgie's light up, the boy having listened to the entire conversation even as he held his turtle above his head as though it was a rocket instead of an animal, or something with wings instead of fins, and snatches the clown's hands off of Bill's, grabbing a gloved pinky and almost dragging the clown up the steps of the porch, Bill openly laughing at the shock that flashes through the clown's eyes.

However, a flash of ominous yellow coloring forms in his eyes when he spots a particularly nosy neighbor peeking through her kitchen window at them, a telephone pressed to her ear and a nasty grin on her face as Bill leaves Silver by the garage. The boy tries his hardest not to run, not even aware of their audience, back to the porch to unlock the door, pulling his house key from his pocket. Her nasty smile grows when she spots the clown staring right back at her, the bitch having the audacity to wave two of her fingers at him as she watches Georgie pull him into the house, Bill following with that same shy look on his face despite the fact that he's smiling.

Robert understands. It does look peculiar, if not downright creepy, to see a stranger she's never seen before go into her neighbor's house, while the dad isn't home, the mom long gone, with the kids, especially since he's dressed in the clown suit. Yet it isn't _her_ business. She's just as bad as that neighbor girl that saw Beverly bringing a bunch of boys into her house, he knows.

 _You'll float_ , _too_ , Robert thinks darkly as he lets himself be pulled into the house.

Georgie is already eagerly showing him everything there was to see downstairs and telling him all about his toys.

"After I put her upstairs, I want to show you my LEGOs and all of my other toys, including my teddy bear and my My Buddy Doll and --" Georgie rambles happily as he lets go of the clown's finger, almost running up the stairs to go and grab them instead of "-- Richie calls them stupid but what does he know?" are the last words Robert can make out as Georgie disappears from view.

He stares up the steps, recalling how he had watched, from the shadows, lurking, as Bill slowly stepped down them.

"He's a good kid," Robert tells Bill, looking behind himself only to see that the door was shut and Bill wasn't behind him.

He sighs as he sees that Bill is in the kitchen, his comic and his book and his doll on the table, Vitaly's hoop in his pocket, the clown knows, the boy already trying to think of what to cook for dinner. His sense of self-preservation is urging him to start making it now before his dad gets home.

The boy just smiles, nodding in agreement as he looks through the fridge.

Robert stares.

"And you're a good big brother," he adds, knowing it was true.

Bill just shrugs, growing shy again, even as he pulls the chicken out of the fridge. Already his mind is conjuring up baked chicken and mashes potatoes, as well as either broccoli or green beans. Robert cannot help himself; he scowls, viciously.

"A boy shouldn't be cooking dinner for his father," he says softly, not unkindly. He frowns at the fact that Bill lowers his eyes, having been caught, as Georgie's rampant footsteps echo above their heads. "A father should be cooking dinner for his boy."

"Wuh-Well," Bill says, not looking at the clown as his cheeks burn with embarrassment even though he knows Robert is just a concerned friend, like Richie or any of the other Losers. "Nuh-Not our duh-dad."

Robert just stares at him, his eyes soft and sad, as his eyes linger on the spot on Bill's forearm where he knows the boy had burnt himself, months ago, when he was first trying to make his dad dinner. Of course, the asshole had the nerve to insult the meal and couldn't bother himself with the fact that Bill had hurt himself just to serve the ungrateful ass.

He grabs his own forearm, wondering if he resembled Mike at the moment whenever he was nervous or shy. Unless those meant the same thing, these feelings were new to the clown, after all. In his free hand he manifests that box of cards again as Bill looks up at him, offering him a tight-lipped smile.

"Why don't..." Robert begins slowly, almost cautiously, as Bill stares, "... why don't I do that for you?"

Bill almost gapes, though he does tilt his head even as his smile becomes less forced. A mixture of flattery and embarrassment bubbles in his belly, his chest feeling fluttery.

"Yuh-You don't huh-have to do that," he says quietly, but not ungratefully.

"I want to," Robert says, though this is not at all for Zack. It's for Bill, and Georgie. Although this is forbidden territory he's treading at this point, namely because Robert has only ever watched others manhandle their stoves and obviously has never used one himself. "A boy should be given food, not made to make it."

Bill lowers his eyes.

"I couldn't luh-let you do that," he says, keeping his smile. "It's fuh-fine."

"Let me help, at the very least," Robert says quietly.

Bill just lets out a small laugh of disbelief, looking away as his cheeks turn scarlet.

"Fuh-Fuh-Fine," he says, conceding. What could it hurt? "You guh-get to p-puh-puh-puh-peel the puh-potatoes."

Robert looks at the counter where the bag is sitting, minding its own business, as he places the box of cards on the kitchen table. He can do this. He doesn't dare ask, "How hard can it be?" because he'd rather not have the moment ruined by him screwing it up. The moment is oddly domestic, such a particularly strange thing, but Robert can't find himself caring even as Bill fills the pan full of water and he's ripping the bag open (with a carefully concealed obsidian claw, of course) and his heart and belly feel oddly warm and bubbly. A pleasant feeling. It feels nice, even. Homey.

"Yuh-You guh-going to tuh-take the gluh-gloves off?" Bill asks, smiling with amusement as the clown opens the bag, pulling out a potato.

"No," he says bluntly even while rinsing it off in the sink.

"Okay then..." Bill says, smiling as he watches the clown stare at the potato as though it's something completely foreign to him. "Yuh-You've nuh-never cuh-cooked buh-before, huh-have you?"

"Is it that obvious?" Robert asks, unable to stop smiling.

"Yuh-Yes," Bill says bluntly, unable to stop grinning as he turns the burners on.

The moment Bill looks away, bending down to grab the pan for the chicken, is when the clown stares at him thoughtfully before manifesting a long obsidian claw on his thumb, foregoing the knife Bill had given him, and slicing the peels off with perfect precision in a matter of seconds, spinning the spud with his other hand and watching the peel fall away. He repeats this with the rest of them in seconds, before Bill even stands back up. Bill turns around, fully prepared to help with that too, before blinking in shock as he takes the potato from the clown, staring with confusion (the claw gone), before shrugging it off and throwing it into the pan.

 _I'm going soft_ , the clown thinks, unashamed of the fact as he uses the same claw, once Bill looks away, to cut them into halves, then quarters.

This is the scene Georgie walks in on, his little arms full of a bunch of his stuffed toys, his new turtle lying on his bed, nearly taking up the whole thing. Bill is laughing as the clown threatens to douse him in water with the sink sprayer, even aiming it at him while Bill tries to pull it away. Even as Georgie too smiles at the scene, he can't help the feeling of longing for his mom that he feels from the bottom of his heart.

That, and the childish wish that Bill would smile like that more often.

It reminds him, quite painfully, of the time his dad, on their mom's birthday, had tried to offer to cook dinner and she wouldn't let him, and it resulted in the two of them play fighting with the kitchen sprayer, both soaked, head to toe, in water. And even when she had finally agreed to let him "help" prepare the dinner, she still had to help him. And as Bill puts the chicken into the oven, not a drop of water on him or the clown, Georgie pulls Robert to the table, showing him his toys.

He shows him his favorite teddy bears as well as his My Buddy doll and a few other stuffed animals he has, the clown seated in their dad's usual seat while Georgie and Bill sit in theirs. Robert chuckles as he looks at the My Buddy doll.

"That's very nice," he says, "I just hope you didn't name him Tommy." He grins at the amused smile that forms on Bill's lips, though Bill doesn't let Georgie watch scary movies like that. "Or Chucky."

Bill laughs as Georgie stares, confused, but also smiling.

"I don't get it," he says.

"You don't have to get it," Robert says, simply setting the toys on the table as Georgie shows him the LEGO turtle.

He hands it to the clown, the plastic feeling surprisingly warm against his fingers, and Robert remembers. Oh, yes. He remembers this one all too well. His expression dims, becoming blank and unreadable. He remembers Bill, in another time, holding this very same LEGO turtle, the boy sitting on Georgie's bed as he had begun to cry, the boy longing for his little brother, wishing with every fiber of his being that he could take that day in October back. Wishing he could have either stopped Georgie from going or had just gone with him. And then he had become startled, disbelieving, and frightened, when he had seen a flash of yellow -- Georgie's slicker -- and had seen someone, surely Georgie -- who else had those green galoshes and that bright yellow slicker? -- before he had dropped the toy, the turtle smashing into pieces.

Robert knew it was a reference to the fact that Maturin was dead.

"A spider would've been cooler," Robert says, handing the toy back.

"Uh huh," Georgie says, shaking his head. "Spiders are creepy," he says, remembering a time there had been a huge spider in the bathroom that had frightened him, way before he had even met Pennywise, and he had gotten his mom, who had promptly killed it with a newspaper.

 _That poor spider_ , Robert thinks, lips twitching in morbid amusement.

"Maybe the spider thought you were creepy," he retorts, Bill almost snorting with laughter as his eyes fall on the box of cards, the boy's smile widening.

"Yuh-You guh-got anymore truh-tricks up your sluh-sleeve?" he asks.

"A few," Robert says, taking the box and pulling out the cards as he leans back in Zack's chair, Sharon's no longer at the table. It was in the garage, he knew, gathering dust. Zack refused to let it sit at his table again. He extends them out to Georgie, "Pick."

Georgie sticks his tongue out, his eyes gazing at all of them before snatching one from the middle. The clown grins.

He sets the rest onto the table, face down, Bill and Georgie watching, one with barely concealed excitement as he hides the card against his shirt and the other trying to contain his curiosity. And excitement.

"Now, imagine if I could go through these cards and tell you which one is missing. How long do you think that will take me to do?" the clown asks, tapping his finger against the table.

"I dunno," Bill says. "Maybe two muh-minutes?"

"I bet I could do it in five seconds," Robert says, spreading the cards out on the table. He runs his index finger over the backs of every single one, in three seconds, and grins broadly. "I think somebody has the Ace of Hearts."

Georgie quickly looks, Bill peering over to see it and Georgie grins, Bill's eyes widening as his little brother laughs.

"Huh-How'd you do that?" Bill can't help but ask, surprised.

"A magician doesn't reveal his secrets, Billy," Robert says, taking the card back from Georgie. He shuffles them again, sending them flying between his hands, impressing both boys, before offering them out to Bill. "Pick."

Bill bites his lower lip, then his cheek, before taking one, quickly hiding it under the table. Georgie tries to peek but Robert, on the other hand; he takes two fingers and scratches the spot above his heart. Bill, an eyebrow raised, but definitely amused, looks at the card.

"Ohmygod," he says, eyes widening with childish deight.

"Two of Hearts," Robert says.

Georgie grins at it as he takes it from Bill's hands, looking at it as though it was the coolest thing in the world. Robert can't help his own smile, much preferring the laughter of childish joy over the screams of raw terror. Bill and Georgie's dolls share his smile, their black button eyes shining as the clown's eyes do, but --

\-- the clown blinks as he starts to see something. Nothing in particular in the house, no. Actually, nowhere near the house. He isn't seeing through his own eyes, the pair that are slowly looking over to the kitchen sink with an unreadable expression, but instead he's seeing through the eyes of the dolls...

Dozens, almost hundreds, of the insides of people's houses flash through his vision, a painful pulsing reverberating through his head. Almost like the sound of a camera flashing, blurriness obscuring his view... it settles on one in particular, but he can't tell who's doll it is -- all he can see is flashes of --

\-- the Barrens?

The clown closes his eyes, pressing gloved fingers them, trying to get a better view as Georgie continues looking at his cards, as though he might find some big secret among them, Bill watching. Both boys are wondering how he did it...

Robert grits his teeth as, through the doll, he can smell the thick, sickly sweet rank of fear permeating the air surrounding whichever child this is... it is just now starting to get dark, not dark enough that whoever this is could get dangerously lost in this wooded area, Robert can see the stream after all and if need be, he can go find them... he isn't hungry, there is no danger there... but... what on earth --

Frantic heartbeats are echoing loudly, thudding madly against a ribcage. He can see bits and pieces, through the little button eyes on the doll...

... but the dagger is; he can't see _who's_ chasing this kid...

A kid from Derry, one who had been at the circus, obviously, but whether it's a boy or a girl, Robert can't currently tell... he worries, but only for a moment. Fear of... something... but it wasn't the clown, so who... unless...

... unless nobody was chasing this person but instead the kid had simply taken a wrong turn and was taking longer than necessary to get home... hence they they were worried... frantic parents could be quite a scary thing, after all. Eddie knows this...

... that made sense...

... didn't it?

He's distracted by Bill's voice echoing, the sound miles away but _there_. The clown lets the vision fade away as he stops looking through the eyes of the child's doll.

"Ruh-Robert..."

The clown blinks and lowers his hands from his face, seeing that Bill was now staring at him while Georgie continues trying to figure out the card trick. Concern is flickering in Bill's blue eyes like a flame on a candle.

"Yuh-You ok?"

"Fine," Robert says coolly, but not quickly. He cannot help the sliver of unease that pools in the pit of his belly. "My eyes are just... sensitive."

"Oh," Bill says, buying it easily. Yet Robert cannot help but stare, almost vacantly, the barest hint of confusion and worry on his face, at the kitchen sink. Through the little button eyes, now he can't see anything other than the Derry sky. Which means whoever that was just lost their doll. He shakes his head, the clown. "Duh-Do you wuh-want the cuh-cards buh-back?" Bill asks, unable to stop his smile as Georgie sticks his tongue out.

"Nah, let him wonder," Robert says, Bill laughing as Georgie blows a raspberry.

Bill is about to ask him something else, the lingering hope that Robert could stay, just a little bit longer, rolling off of him in tidal waves, whether or not his dad shows up, because maybe Bill could use that as an excuse to introduce the clown to his dad, when the decision is made for him by the rattling of the doorknob. The faint echo of keys rattling from the other side, the outside of the house, makes him freeze in place, his eyes widening fearfully because --

\-- _Oh_ , _fuck_ \--

The boy tenses, visibly, Robert scowling as the door opens and the foul stench of cheap booze pierces his sense of smell. His eyes drift over to the note on the kitchen counter, Bill's handwriting on it, saying that he had taken Georgie tot eh circus, but Bill was not the one who had written it. The clown flicks his wrist and the scrap of paper shifts and morphs before his very eyes, though both Bill and Georgie miss it, and becomes a bird that quickly flies out of the window before disappearing completely.

Zack walks into the house, not exactly drunk but at that pointed of being "pleasantly" buzzed. At least four beers, Robert counts by stink alone. The smell of baking chicken and boiling broccoli is enough to make Zack pleased, a fact that makes the clown's physical insides boil and churn with displeasure and anger, before he calms himself as Zack turns, expecting to see his sons sitting at the kitchen table and waiting for him to come home.

He does see that, the part about his sons sitting at the kitchen table, but even he can tell that they weren't waiting for him at all. He stops, almost dead in his tracks, and even the clown can understand what it would look like to his perspective; a grown man he's never seen before, even if he thought Georgie already knew him because of October, though that itself was still questionable, in _his_ house, at _his_ kitchen table, in _his_ chair, dressed in a clown suit (something that added to the weirdness of this moment in Zack's opinion), and amidst the shock and slowly blooming anger, confusion and unease are settling in the man's belly.

He stares at the clown and the clown stares right back, shock plastered all over the man's face while Robert stares coldly back even though in most scenarios, _he_ would be the intruder in this situation. Bill is pointedly looking down at his hands as he swallows, his eyes wide with evident fear; the boy is already aware that the tension in the room was rising.

"Uh, who the hell are you?" Zack asks, well, _demands_.

Georgie looks up from the cards, only just now realizing his dad was home from work, and he smiles, but it dims as he understands that his dad is glaring at Pennywise -- Georgie liked Pennywise better than Robert, it was much more fun sounding. Less adult-y -- and the clown is glaring right back and Bill looks frightened. Yet he smiles again, Georgie, his childish mind thinking that all people needed to brighten their day was a smile. It had worked for Henry, even just a little.

"Dad, this is the clown!" Georgie says happily. "The clown from the circus!"

Zack drops his bag to the floor, Bill jumping at the sharp, thudding sound. He stands up straight, to his full height; an act of intimidation, Robert knows, but he couldn't care less about Zack trying to prove he was the alpha dog in his own house. His eyes linger on the clown, a sense of something familiar lingering deep within him as he begins to rack his brain for the memory, because he is certain he has actually seen this guy before because something -- the makeup, maybe -- is creepily familiar --

\-- Zack was a boy, 27 years ago, around Bill's age, and hadn't kids gone missing then, too --

His eyes stray over to Bill, who is refusing to look up from his hands, which are shaking like the leaves in October, as he tries to put the cards back into their box. Zack opens his mouth, perhaps to start yelling at the stranger in his house, near his boys, though Robert knows it is not the father in him wanting to _protect_ his children, to "Get the fuck out of his house or he's calling the cops" or even to tell Georgie, "Go to your room, Bill and I need to talk", but is instead silent as he watches the clown's gloved hand take hold of Bill's, the boy jumping again, but the clown brushes a gloved thumb over the back of Bill's hand before gently taking the cards from him and much more slowly begins to put them back into the box himself.

Zack's eyes harden, and narrow, deeply, when he sees the definite flushing of Bill's cheeks. Whether it's because of embarrassment or _something else_ , the man doesn't know. But damn if he isn't going to find out. He opens his mouth, about to repeat his question, but the clown speaks, his voice just as unsettling as the makeup and the outfit he wears, although the hair and the actual face are different from what Zack's foggy memories are showing him.

A more bulbous head, with fluffy, spiked up ginger hair instead of dark brown hair and a normal, decent looking face. Though the eyes and the makeup are the same, the former looking in two different directions while the makeup is that of white greasepaint and red lipstick as well as red marks running along the corners of his full mouth and all the way up his cheeks, going even above his eyes and stopping just above his eyebrows, resembling the facial marks of a cheetah.

This clown is similar, but different. Either way, Zack is thoroughly disturbed by him. By his presence. His _existence_. And not just because he's a guy he doesn't know in his house...

"Oh, I'm Pennywise the _Dancing_ Clown," Robert says, grinning as the unease in Zack's belly stirs and grows, daring to stem into fear.

He knows exactly why.

He had jiggled his chest, just as he had done when he had introduced himself to Georgie and to Eddie, the sound of the silver bells jingling underneath his starched ruff making the man jump, and he had purposefully made his eyes flash, from a starry, glittery blue to a flash of silver and then an ominous coloring of _orange_.

He grins, toothily, his teeth bared like a bulldog or a pit bull, or any mean dog, about to bite. To go in for the _kill_. He even tilts his head, catlike, relishing in the fact that he was scaring the man without barely doing a thing.

 _Oh_ , _I'm **back** all right_, he thinks with a wicked glee.

"Yes, Pennywise, meet Mr. Denbrough," Robert says, remembering October as Georgie does. Although the latter was blissfully unaware of the fact that his dad was beginning to stare at the clown with the beginnings of genuine fear. "Mr. Denbrough, meet Pennywise," he says. "Now we aren't strangers, are we?"

Georgie beams at him as Bill's lips twitch, the boy unsure if he should smile or panic.

"Get out."

Bill flinches as Georgie's eyes widening, the latter staring at their dad with shock.

"What?" Georgie asks, not understanding what the clown had done to make their dad mad.

Sure, he understood that you weren't supposed to talk to strangers, but how could you become friends with someone without getting to know them? And how could they introduce Pennywise to their dad if they hadn't waited for him to come home?

"Get out of my house, _now_ ," Zack barks at the clown, acting braver than he felt.

Which was scared shitless, the clown knew with an air of smugness.

"Duh-Dad, puh-puh-puh --" Bill starts, his eyes watering as he turns towards his dad, begging him not to make a scene.

"You brought a fucking stranger into _my_ house?" Zack snaps at him, Bill flinching as Robert's eyes harden. Zack visibly backs away when a low growl echoes throughout the house, the man's mind thinking it must be some kind of _dog_ , as the clown's chest vibrates, his teeth grinding together and threatening to sharpen. "What have I fucking told you --"

"But he's not a stranger, dad," Georgie says quietly.

"I don't care," Zack says and Robert scowls as he senses the fact that he's going to "talk" to Bill about this.

"It's quite alright," he says, offering Bill a smile that the boy returns, though it's a small, feeble thing. "I've got somewhere to be. Got to prepare for the next show, you know. And --"

He holds up the Queen of Hearts card and quickly flicks his fingers to make it disappear before their very eyes, Georgie's and Bill's lighting up as he swishes his wrist to make the Ace of Hearts card appear, and he does it one last time and shows them the Two of Hearts. Zack is glaring at him, not as impressed.

Robert holds the Two of Hearts card between his index finger and his middle one before offering it out to Bill, that same comforting smile on his face.

"Here, take it," he says, ignoring the fact that those words remind him of October, too. "And bring it back when you're able. And I'll show you a magic trick unlike any other," Robert says, a promise in his words. Bill stares right back at him, his eyes still tearful, unsure if he should. He wants to, don't get him wrong, but his dad is still glaring at the two of them. "And I'll tell you the best, and cheesiest, thing you've ever heard."

"Oh... okay..." Bill says quietly, sniffling even as his trembling fingers take the card, the boy smiling a watery smile.

Two of Hearts... Robert understands the implication...

Loathe Zack Denbrough he may, he turns to him, offering him a smile that confuses and unsettles the man. The latter more than the former.

"Oh, I'm no stranger, Mr. Denbrough, but I can understand. Daughters and sons, they need to be --" he narrows his eyes, a flash of silver shimmering behind starry blue, the clown grinning as that wondrous stink of human fear permeates the air, and it's only coming from their dad, Georgie and Bill too invested in the Two of Hearts card. One excitedly, the other hopefully. "-- _protected_."

"Right..." Zack says quietly as Robert pats Bill on the hand, the boy's skin fluttering from his touch, before the clown stands, making his way for the door.

"Bye..." Bill says quietly, sadly, not really wanting the clown to go.

"Consider it more of an 'Until next time'," Robert says pleasantly, his eyes falling on Zack. "There _will_ be a next time, won't there?" he asks, tilting his head with that same malevolent lilt in his voice, which was slowly becoming higher in pitch.

Zack swallows, men braver than him having crumbled under Robert's piercing stare long before this, and the man can see the flickering of silver underneath the blue of his eyes, the hints of orange daring to break free.

"Sure..."

Bill tries his hardest not to let his relief show, though he knows he's in trouble.

Robert walks towards the living room, stopping only because of the warm hand that forces itself against his shoulder blade, fingers digging into it in a way that he knows it meant to be painful. The same way Zack's done it to his own son numerous times this past year alone. It takes every ounce of restraint not to bare his teeth, bark or not, sharp or not, and simply rip the man's fingers clean off his hand with his teeth. He instead settles for looking _down_ at Zack with an unimpressed expression, eyes flashing ominious yellow.

"Listen pal, I don't know what kind of shit you're trying to pull, but it isn't happening," Zack tells him quietly.

"I get it," Robert says as a gloved hand finds its way to curling itself, quite serpent like, around Zack's wrist, the man visibly flinching as his own hand lets go of the clown's shoulder. Each of Robert's fingers is like a boa constrictor constricting around its prey, and he grins as he feels the beginnings of Zack's bones beginning to grind against each other, moments away from breaking. "I get it just fine."

Of course he would. He used to be part of the reason why kids were reminded, constantly, to come home before dark.

He relishes in the pained expression flickering across Zack's face as he struggles to yank his hand free from the clown's grasp even though Robert isn't barely moving.

"I'd kill anyone who puts their hands on the kids I care about," Robert whispers to him, low and quiet, only Zack hearing it. The man's eyes widen, the implication behind the clown's words clear as crystal, though it is perhaps liquid courage that keeps him going.

"Good, now get out," he says quietly.

"Not even going to walk me out the door? I'm hurt," Robert whispers as he drags the man by his wrist out the door, Bill not looking because he doesn't want to look at his dad and Georgie is looking at Bill, worried.

The door opens on its own, Zack's eyes widening as the clown's flashes. They're both on the porch and the door swings shut on its own just the same. Robert lets go of Zack's wrist, nearly tossing it as though he finds it to be nothing more than garbage, before he stands upright, to his full height, which is a good few inches taller than Zack, as his eyes fully turn ominous yellow, glinting under the dying sunlight.

His hand snatches Zack by the face, palm brushing against the man's chin, while claws, black as obsidian, tear through the fingers of his glove, digging into the soft flesh of Zack's cheeks. Exactly as he did to Bill that night after the incident at the store, as his eyes begin to bleed into that ominous orange, the coloring taking over his entire eyes until they resemble glowing orange orbs in his head, just as when he had attacked Freddy. The tips dig in, deep. Enough to leave behind indents, but not enough to break the skin.

"You put your hands on that boy, either one, and you'll lose every finger," the clown whispers, a cold and high voice echoing out of his mouth, the harsh beats of the Deadlights reverberating behind his words. Zack's pale eyes, so alike Bill's, widen as fear -- no, _true terror_ \-- positively _shines_ in their depths. The clown reels his head back, laughing a quick cruel laugh before glaring at the man. "I'll drive you _crazy_ , and I'll _kill_ you!" he snarls. "I'm every nightmare you ever had. I'm your worst dream come true! I'm _everything_ you'll ever be afraid of!"

He chuckles darkly as he imagines himself grabbing Zack's entire face with a monstrously large hand, bigger than the man's head, before tossing him from the porch and onto the lawn before throwing himself onto him, forming monstrously large teeth, pale as ivory, as his claws and black chitinous limbs would stretch out from his humanoid form as his entire being glows orange; it would be so very satisfying to do...

... but it was too early.

His painted lips brush over the lobe of Zack's ear, his monster's teeth bared as he grins, wicked and nasty. He whispers, cold and cruel, tauntingly, as he _smells_ the evidence behind his next words;

"You pissed yourself."

He drops his monstrous form and returns back to the clown, smiling sinisterly as the coppery reek of blood hits his sense of smell even before Zack's nose starts to bleed, the bright, shiny liquid sliding down the man's upper lip and slowly sliding down his chin, dripping onto his shirt, a damp spot on the front of his jeans.

He turns to leave, getting as far as off of the steps, just going onto the lawn, his golden eyes straying to where he had held Bill in his arms not so long ago, but Zack speaks.

Zack is petrified, more than just having caught a glimpse of the Deadlights. He isn't catatonic, and most unfortunately, in the clown's opinion, he isn't dead -- yet -- but he glares at the clown as these memories fog over. The clown changes them, alters them so that the man thinks he has the upper ground, that he was the one who just made a promise -- not a threat, but a promise. Promises were not to be broken -- and he scowls.

"You fucking come back here, whether or not Bill invites you --" Zack says from his spot where his back is pressed against the door, the man pinned without the clown even touching him, the clown turning his head slightly from his spot on the front lawn, "-- and I'll fucking kill you."

The clown just chuckles, low and gravelly, his eyes still glowing orange, though Zack doesn't see.

He will not remember what just happened. Not until Robert kills him. He will only remember that there is something about the clown that he just can't help but be afraid of.

No, not the _clown_...

... _It's not a man_...

... **_It_**...

"Honestly, Zack," Robert says, the man trembling, head to toe, at the use of his name. Neither Bill, nor Georgie, have told the clown their dad's name. Some part of Zack somehow knows this, in a way he doesn't understand. So how could the clown know his name? "I would love to see you try."

 _You'll die_ , _if you try_ , the clown thinks, grinning a predatory smile before departing, whistling to the beat of piping circus music.

The song of a circus.

Zack stumbles as he goes back into the house, every nerve in his body feeling shot, the man feeling as though he had just been doused in arctic cold water even as he wipes the blood from his nose. He hates having nosebleeds, and he's starting to think he should let up on the alcohol... he hides this fact even as he slams the door behind him, startling both Bill and Georgie, who haven't left their spots at the dinner table, and he all but runs upstairs, the feeling of being watched making his skin crawl.

He, nor Bill, nor Georgie, notice the red balloon floating outside of their window. Nor do they hear the echoing, maniacal laughter of a cold and high voice.

Dinner is... awkward...

That was putting it lightly.

The atmosphere is tense, and quiet. Bill can tell his dad is still angry, but with him or Robert, he can't tell, but the clown must've said something that really pissed him off, because occasionally he jabs his fork into his chicken with a little more force than necessary, as though he's imagining that he's stabbing _something else_. Georgie had kept good on his promise to help Bill with the laundry, though he nearly spilled the soap on himself with a smile on his little face, and now they were here. Completely silent save for the sound of Georgie happily shoving in mouthfuls of mashed potatoes.

"Bill got me a toy today," Georgie says, his mouth full, also not liking the tension that laced teh silence. "A turtle."

Zack doesn't answer. Only scowls more viciously at his plate.

"Bill got a comic book," Georgie adds. "And a bigger book and Vitaly's hoop."

Zack's eyes harden at the new name.

"Who?" he asks, not wanting to think about how fucking terrified he was of the clown even though he couldn't quite figure out why.

Georgie smiles, a small thing, but childishly hopeful.

"The tuh-tiger," Bill says softly.

"Oh," is all Zack says before he returns to glaring at his dinner plate. His eyes stray over to Georgie, seeing that his plate was nearly empty. Bill's, too. "Finish up and go to your room, Georgie," he says, his words making Bill's stomach drop as his back tenses up. "Bill and I need to talk." He glares at his son, who quickly looks back down at his plate, the boy shrinking under the scrutiny of his dad's glower. "Privately."

Georgie looks between them but does as he's told. He finds that doing as he's told lessens how much trouble Bill gets in, even though he doesn't think Bill should be getting in trouble. Pennywise wasn't a stranger. He was their friend. He departs, knowing he has to brush his teeth and he hopes Bill will still tuck him in.

Each step Georgie takes sounds like thunder in Bill's ears. And as it fades away, he can't help but feel a mix of scared and relieved. At least his dad doesn't act like a dick in front of Georgie... at least, not intentionally, Bill thinks grimly, remembering how Georgie had seen his dad grab his face, the bruises only just starting to fade.

He can see that his dad is starting to extend his hand out, Bill's mind drifting over to the card, and he quickly grabs Georgie's plate and his own, almost darting to the sink as to pretend he didn't see it.

"Give it to me, Bill," his dad says, his tone leaving no room for argument even as Bill's eyes water.

Bill doesn't, he instead grabs the sink sprayer and starts washing the dishes. He flinches when he hears his dad's chair scraping across the floor, hears his dad's footsteps coming closer... he bites his tongue to hold back his frightened whimper when he sees his dad's shadow looming over him, feels his breath on the back of his neck...

"Bill," his day says, his teeth gritted, his hand still extended. "Don't make me ask you twice."

Bill is already crying even as he lets the dishes clatter in the sink, reluctantly pulling the card out of his pocket. He holds it up by his ear, a frown on his face that deepens as his dad takes it from him, but he lets out a sharp sound when his dad grabs him by his shoulders and turns him around, forcing him to face him. His grip bruising. Bill lowers his eyes, not wanting to look at his dad.

"Two of Hearts," Zack says, scoffing as Bill reluctantly looks up at him, tearfully. His cheeks are already red and blotchy, his eyes pink and glassy. "You wanna tell me what the hell you were thinking?"

Bill swallows.

"It wuh-wasn't luh-like that duh-dad," he says quietly. "Huh-He juh-just wuh-walked us huh-home wuh-when he didn't nuh-need to."

Zack pierces him with his glare.

"And he just decided to do that, did he?"

"Nuh-No," Bill admits. "Buh-Beverly asked huh-him, tuh-to."

Zack's eyes flash again. He's heard of Beverly Marsh. Oh, yes, he's definitely heard of _her_. And he doesn't think he likes the idea of Bill or Georgie hanging around a girl like that. Her dad ought to be ashamed of himself, he thinks. The thoughts in his head are simple as they're perverse; he doesn't think Bill should be hanging around her for that reason, and he doesn't think Georgie should either, though Georgie is too young to understand things like that.

"And why would that be?"

Bill swallows.

"There wuh-was a fuh-fight," he says truthfully, albeit reluctantly. "Buh-Buh-Bowers s-started tuh-to guh-get nuh-nasty and s-started a fuh-fight... Ruh-Robert puh-put a stop to it and... I guh-guess she duh-didn't wuh-want him to start anything else..."

Beverly, of course, wasn't the only one who had wanted the clown to walk them home for that very reason. Bill had put his hand up, just the same, though in reality he just wanted to spend a little more time with him, but he wasn't about to tell his dad that.

"You expect me to believe that he just walked you home in good conscious?" Zack asks, holding up the card with both hands. "That he wasn't getting anything out of it where Miss Marsh is concerned?"

Bill stares, his heart breaking as he watches.

RIP.

Tears stream like twin waterfalls from his eyes, sliding down his cheeks and dripping from his chin as his dad rips the card apart right in front of him, forcing him to watch, then rips those pieces into smaller pieces, and keeps going until the pieces are so small that Bill is afraid he might not be able to even tape them back together to salvage the card. Weirdly enough, however, none of the hearts on the card, not a single one, actually split apart. They don't take any damage. He trembles as his dad stands before him and throws the pieces onto the floor, a nasty look in his eyes.

Bill bends down to pick them up, understanding what his dad was getting at when talking about Beverly.

"You bring that guy into my house again, or anywhere near here, you will be fucking sorry, Bill."

"Duh-Dad, p-puh-please," Bill says desperately, on his knees as he scrambles for the pieces even as he looks up at his dad --

SMACK.

Bill almost cries out as his head snaps to the side, the entire left side of his face _stinging_. His insides twist, his heart pounding, as his brain registers the fact that his dad has just smacked him. Struck him like he was _nothing_. That his own dad was treating him like bawdy garbage.

Bill shoves the pieces into his pockets as he quickly turns back to face the sink; he stiffens, when he feels his dad's arms wrapping around his waist, feeling his dad's chin pressing against his head, his dad's chest against his back. Although his dad's arms are warm, Bill feels impossibly cold, too terrified to even utter a squeak.

"I don't want you hanging around that girl, Bill," Zack says quietly, lowering his face so that his nose and lips brush over the top of Bill's hair, the boy shivering from the action.

"Shuh-She's nuh-not luh-like that duh-dad," Bill says, swallowing thickly as he tries to pull himself out of his dad's grasp, to no avail. "Thuh-That wuh-was juh-just a d-duh-dumb l-luh-lie Buh-Bowers muh-made up."

"She tell you that herself?" Zack asks, sneering.

"Nuh-No," Bill says quietly.

Zack just scoffs even as he stares at the sink, remembering how he used to do this to Sharon all the time. Only, Bill was nothing like his mom, it seemed.

"You know," he starts off quietly, one hand moving from Bill's stomach to brush over his bangs, the action making Bill's insides freeze. "I used to do this with your mom all the time. Even back when she was pregnant with you."

Bill stays quiet even as he struggles to do the dishes, his dad's arm in his way. He's uncomfortable, his skin crawling, but he doesn't speak up. He's too terrified.

"I miss those days," Zack says quietly. "I don't understand why she even left..."

Bill lowers his eyes, which are burning with his tears.

"I muh-miss huh-her, t-tuh-too," he says quietly, his heart aching for her.

Zack stays quiet. He presses his lips to Bill's head, the boy not liking the feeling.

"Clean this up and go to bed," Zack says quietly, trying his hardest not to compare the fact that Bill wasn't much like his mom... he did the chores around the house, cooking and cleaning and doing laundry, but he didn't play piano... and he certainly didn't smell like Sharon's favorite perfume... His fingers brush over Bill's neck one last time before he lets go, Bill's knees almost giving out with relief as he hears his dad walking away.

Bill keeps his head down even as his dad goes upstairs, letting go of the dishes and reaching into his pocket for the ripped up pieces of the card. He knows the card is salvageable, just as he knows it shouldn't have happened in the first place. Bill liked the fact that Robert had given it to him with the promise of performing another magic trick, as well as the best, and cheesiest, thing Bill would ever hear... but did his dad really have to ruin it for him?

He's unaware of the giggling voices echoing from the kitchen sink, the voices of two little girls, that Bill would have recognized as Georgie and Roberta had he heard it... They recite a poem, a haiku they wrote _special_ ;

" _Down in the depths_ ,

 _Underneath to find belief_ ,

 _You will float too_ , _Zack_."

Georgie's voice giggles as that red balloon floats just outside of the kitchen window before floating up to remain outside of Zack's bedroom window. All night.

"You okay, Bill?" Georgie asks as Bill tucks him into bed, the boy seeing the red spot on his big brother's face that greatly resembles a large hand. "He didn't..."

"It's fuh-fine, Guh-Georgie," Bill says, offering him a smile as he lays the giant turtle plush onto his little brother, the damn thing almost taking up the whole bed even as she continues smiling that maternal smile. "Duh-Did you nuh-name her?"

"No," Georgie says, smiling as he wraps his little arms around the turtle's neck, pulling her close. "I thought you could."

Bill just smiles as he brushes his fingers over Georgie's forehead.

"Huh-How abuh-bout..." he looks around Georgie's room, not seeing anything that could inspire him to come up with a name. "... wuh-we fuh-figure that out t-tuh-tomuh-morrow?"

"Okay," Georgie says happily. "We're still going back to the circus, right?"

"Yuh-Yeah," Bill says. "I thuh-think so."

His dad hadn't said anything about grounding him, and he certainly hadn't said anything about not going back to the circus. Although Bill didn't want to press his luck, he didn't want to disappoint Robert by not showing up... and he had to tell him what happened to the card.

Georgie bites his lip.

"Can I sleep with you tonight?" he asks, his eyes on that red mark on his face. A stark contrast against Bill's pale skin.

"Nuh-Not tuh-tonight, Guh-Georgie," Bill says, still smiling even though it pains him to say no. "The buh-bed isn't buh-big enough fuh-for the three of us."

Georgie blows a raspberry at him and Bill makes a grab for his tongue.

"I wuh-warned you," Bill says as he stands up.

Georgie watches his big brother turn off the lights and go into his room, painfully aware that Bill had locked his bedroom door. He could hear the audible clicking of it. Taking a page out of his book, Georgie does the same thing. Shuts his door, and locks it.

Bill sighs as he sits on his bed, in his pajamas, staring at the card and seeing that he did a crappy job of taping it back together. The pictures were visible, but it still wasn't the same as if the card had never been ripped apart in the first place. He wonders then if the card was supposed to represent how he was currently feeling, his dad having made sure to ruin the end of his day.

His eyes burn, brimmed with tears, as he holds the side of his face, which stings and throbs under his touch. He can't believe his dad had _hit_ him. He had always held Bill too tightly, making sure he left behind bruises on Bill's arms and even his face, but he had never _hit_ him. Never. He doesn't want it to happen again...

He puts the card on his nightstand next to his book, not wanting to think about it anymore, his comic, his doll, and Vitaly's hoop. Or, well, Vitaly's _ring_. He pulls the covers over himself as he closes his eyes, sniffling. He lays on his back as he looks up at his ceiling, smiling as he recalls the events of the day.

It had been a _good_ one. Having gotten his arm cut open sucked, and now he couldn't help but realize his dad either hadn't noticed or hadn't given a shit enough to ask but Bill doesn't care about that. All he cares about was the fact that today, he had been _happy_. Bill could go back and think about how he had felt when held in the clown's arms during the performance. How _safe_ and comforted he had felt. He honestly considered the clown his friend, but he could feel those little butterflies in his belly when he thought about him.

He had been surprised, same as the others, when Beverly had dropped her dress at the quarry not even a minute after arriving, right in front of all of them, no shame attached. He had even been too stupefied by her actions to cover Georgie's eyes, though he knew there had been no need. He had felt rather strange, seeing a girl in her underwear for the first time, and nervous, too, before he had jumped in right after her and Georgie. He feels those same kind of butterflies when he thinks of Robert, only he knows they're much more... fluttery.

The feeling is stronger, in a way. He _likes_ the clown. Bill has never concerned himself with things like girls and stuff like that, has never even had a crush on a girl, not the way he knows Richie likes Eddie and he's pretty sure how Ben likes Beverly, though he remembers a time that Richie had stolen a magazine from his dad's stash and showed it to the Losers. Bill had seen the pictures but hadn't looked for too long, too shy to look and not really interested. Yet he smiles as he thinks about the clown, about Robert, his belly doing all kinds of flips and summersaults. A funny swooping feeling.

He _likes_ the clown. More than just a feeling, he knows. He smiles, a dorky, moony-like thing, his eyes _shining_.

Sleep comes, that familiar veil dropping over his eyes, the boy having had an exciting day and a good meal in his belly despite what had happened between him and his dad. His dreams are those sweet, almost childish, things. His are mysterious and otherworldly, yet still so fragile, like a bubble floating across a dark sky, a spherical, crystalline figure.

His dreams are his own, for the clown hardly has any influence on such things, though the clown is not currently watching him through the eyes of the little doll at the moment. The only influence the clown has on dreams is contorting them into nightmares, but he hasn't done that in _years_. So the dream Bill dreams is entirely of his own making.

When Bill opens his eyes in the land of dreams, an unearthly realm unlike any other, and finds himself in his own personal dreamscape, the first thing he can feel is the coldness of rain pouring down onto his person, smacking onto his head and pricking his skin like countless piercing needles or the tips of deadly claws. The downpour soaks him through, soaking his clothes and soaking him to the bone, the boy drenched instantly, hair sopping wet and his bangs clinging to his forehead as his clothes stick against his skin. He sees that he's standing in the middle of a dark street, an even darker sky above his head, not a star or moon in sight, the boy standing only inches away from the very same storm drain on the corner of Jackson and Witcham. The rain continues to patter and pour, wetting him head to toe, until it stops.

The rain does not stop falling, however. It only stops touching him in particular. It continues to pour, though Bill is safe from its coldness. Almost as though someone is holding an umbrella above his head, a generous thing. He looks up when he feels a broad, rather cold, chest against his upper back, sturdy legs like the trunks of oaks against the backs of his own, and he smiles when he sees that handsome, painted face of the clown smiling right back down at him. He still wears his clown suit, his eyes that beautiful, unearthly, otherworldly blue, hints of silver and orange glinting like gems in the dark; only, he isn't holding an umbrella in a gloved hand. Though, to Bill's surprise, but not, as though this is familiar and normal for him, Robert has more than one hand. More than two. In regards to hands, he has many.

Instead of an umbrella, Bill sees the largest, most massive wings he has ever seen protruding from the clown's back, birdlike things. His first thought is that of an angel, a divine being unlike any other, though they aren't the pure white texture one most often would affiliate with such a heavenly creature. The white of the clown's wings remind Bill of freshly fallen snow, both pure and untouched as well as cold. Just as the red markings running along edges of the feathers, quite like the red paint on the clown's face that adds to the white of the greasepaint, remind him of freshly spilled _blood_. Still warm and uncongealed. Although, now they do not actually remind him of angels. Instead, despite their sheer size, far larger than perhaps twelve grown men, they remind Bill of a crow. A bird of mystery, an otherworldly aura, if ever there was one.

The wings shield them both, hovering only inches above their heads, and when they move, the feathers brushing against each other, the sound reminds Bill of leaves drifting in the wind.

 _Floating_.

Funny enough, the strangest thing he would suppose is that there are a bunch of brightly colored balloons, all pale, pinks and greens, blues and yellows, and even orange and reds, attached to the feathers of those peculiar wings. Although, it does not seem at all like they're tied to them as much as it instead looks as though the strings are simply part of the wings. Part of the clown. And Bill cannot help but have a single thought about those balloons;

 _They float_.

As do those wings, those of a magnificient crow. An otherworldly creature.

Yet Bill continues to smile as the clown wraps his long arms, two and then four, six and then eight, and many more, around his little body, pulling the boy close to him, the boy's back firmly against his chest, with a touch that reminds Bill of frostbite, cold and deadly, but it only brings him comfort. He almost giggles as many gloved hands hold him close, two taking hold of his own, holding them as lovers would hold hands, and those many arms wrap around his upper half.

They hold him close, just as Bill knows they _protect_ him.

But from _what_ , he hasn't a clue.

Bill's mind feels quite fuzzy, though he feels warm and fluttery, especially as the clown lowers his head down to his, a red painted nose brushing over his forehead, those red painted lips coming so close...

Bill pulls his hands from the clown's and lifts his arms up, wrapping them around the back of the clown's neck, his little fingers digging into that soft, dark brown hair, curling into the silky fabric of a starched ruff, the boy pushing his feet up and standing on the tips of his toes as their lips meet.

They feel quite cold, those red painted lips, but so soft and wonderful against his own.

Quite different than that tiny peck in a school play that he hadn't even wanted to be in, Bill wanting it over as quickly as possible, his lips barely even touching hers before he moved away. This kiss, however, he wants to last _forever_.

In his sleep, Bill has his arms underneath his pillow, fingers curled into the soft fabric as he dreams of holding the clown, Robert, close to him, dreams that he's holding the clown's ruff instead of his pillow. He's kissing at air, sweet and slow, as though he's actually having his first kiss, blissfully unaware that eyes were staring at him.

Locked doors don't matter, after all, if someone else has the key...

The black button eyes of his little doll, though they were not focused on him in particular, and Zack's eyes. The latter was watching Bill from his bedroom door, focused on his son, a key in one hand.

However, the clown is currently not present at this time to send Zack away, manipulate him into leaving, to use his influence to keep the man from doing anything, but Zack only stands there, doing nothing at all except watch his son sleep and dream dreams that even he knows are pretty.

Sweet, innocent little things.

Zack remembers, fondly and sadly, dreaming of Sharon the very same way back when they were young and in love. He misses her, so much, just as he hates her. He leaves, shutting the door behind him with an audible click, but Bill is not disturbed from his slumber.

However, the button eyes of Bill's doll still do not shine. Instead, the clown, Robert, stands alone in the Barrens, late at night, his knees bent as he lowers himself down by the stream to pick up an item from the ground.

A little black button-eyed doll, soaked with water, no longer full of sawdust but _cotton_.

And stained with blood.

He sees the little face staring right back up at him, the button eyes no longer shining brightly with the life that belonged to the kid that held it before. He holds it close to his face, smelling the blood and his eyes widen as he understands that it was not even an hour old. Which means this blood was spilled when he was with Bill and Georgie, just as he saw.

A trickle of icy terror slithers down his spine like a wicked serpent.

The child he had given this doll to is _missing_.

There is nothing, no body, not even a finger or a nail or even a strand of hair, to give him any indication as to where the child was at. A case that would quickly turn cold; the police will not bother to look.

And he isn't the reason _why_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Well... I kinda had that 1990 scene...  
> \- Who's gone missing, I wonder? No, I don't. I know exactly who it is. Might start the next chapter off with that.  
> \- I'm thinking about a scene for Mike and his grandpa, as well as a scene for the quarry  
> \- I haven't read the book in a while and I don't intend to again, but another character is probably going to get a little bit more screen time in the next chapter.  
> \- Oh, also, I'm pretty sure the rock fight happened in the start of July, but obviously the timeframe is a little different in this so... maybe we're now at the middle of June? That works.  
> \- Someone's having his first crush, yay! Finally, we're getting somewhere! I used "crow" wings for a couple of reasons ;)  
> \- Well, I hope this chapter isn't too short, I mostly wanted a cliffhangery cliffhanger. Let me know your thoughts in the comments!  
> \- See y'all in chapter twenty!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Chapter twenty!  
> \- It's been a while, I know, but here it is! A heads up, the start circles around Robert, then goes to Beverly, then Ben, then Beverly and Robert again, then goes to Bill. The ending of this chapter is so totally worth it...  
> \- Um, a major warning for shitty parenting and the 1990 scene... again. Warning for child abuse and the Beverly scene from It Chapter Two incorporated into this... To be honest, this chapter got way fucking darker than I originally intended.  
> \- Another scene from Beastars, not in the way one would expect... with Bev and the clown... it gets a little dark, actually. I've got another Beastars scene in mind, though, possibly for the next chapter.  
> \- Freddy's in this one, again. Shockingly, The Corpse Bride is mentioned and I got an idea from the beginning scene from Freddy vs. Jason and mixed it with a deleted scene from the first NOES. Let me know your thoughts on Freddy!  
> \- Henry's in this one and he might be a little OOC but he's trying. I've got plans for him, and another character  
> \- The scene with Pamela was heavily inspired by a scene from Malcom in the Middle  
> \- This is a long one. Let me know how it was in the comments below! Thank you for all your comments and kudos! Might be updating some of the tags, too. Hope I answered your question on the previous chapter!

Robert stares at the little doll in his gloved hands with wide eyes, starry blue bleeding into a pale green, a frightened, disgusted coloring. Hints and flecks of pale purple begin to bleed into his irises, overshadowing the green.

A _horrified_ coloring.

He's _terrified_...

Robert is scared...

... fear...

He snaps his head up, frantic, nearly snapping his head from side to side as he scans this part of the Barrens. He can tell how old this blood is by the scent of it alone, just as he can see through every drain in Derry's sewer system with ease, but he can't find the child...

It's almost as if the poor thing was plucked right off the face of the earth and dropped into a black hole somewhere in the void of space... as though someone, or some _thing_ , was _hiding_ the child...

... from _him_.

He opens his mouth, bellowing the child's name, his eyes wide with fear, true _terror_ , as his heartbeat loses control and becomes sporadic. A sound mimicking his desperation.

Even when dressed in the suit of Pennywise the Dancing Clown, his face painted like the clown's, he greatly resembles the perfect image of a desperate father searching for his lost child...

 _Lost_... _missing_... the clown thinks, horrorstruck, a dangerous thought piercing his void like piecing like the sharpest of blades...

... or broken pieces of fence...

... **_dead_**...

72 hours. That is it. That is all the police of this dirty little town will spare in their search of this child, the clown knows. Just as he knows that even without his dark influence, though he has stopped using it since October, they will not bother to look. He could use his influence to have them look longer, even send out the Dancing Dogs to join the search, but it will be in vain. The child will either turn up, most likely _dead_ , in _pieces_ , or the child won't turn up at all...

He opens his mouth wide, stretching it as far as it could go without adding something monstrous or otherworldly to his features, as to not frighten the child... assuming the child is still alive... before screaming out the child's name.

The parents are already frantic, he knows, because they don't know where their little one was at. They had given their child the curfew for this exact reason. Already, Robert knows, one parent is on the way to the police station to make the missing child report, a poster to be put up if the child doesn't come home, and the other is still at home, the poor thing hoping, praying, _begging_ whatever higher being there was that their child was just _late_.

Not _missing_.

Not...

... **_dead_**.

Robert stops in his tracks, halfway across the Barrens already, preparing to take on the form of a bird, _any_ bird, perhaps a crow, just something with wings, to try and find the child, not the owl he has been taking the form of, such as when Beverly found Ben's doll, his boots sloshing through the dirty water, though he casts no shadow on the reflective surface, when he spots an item on the ground, a single drop of crimson colored blood staining it...

Pale purple becomes pale green, then stormy blue, a saddened coloring.

Missing does mean gone forever, after all... at least in Derry, it does... and Robert knows, without a doubt, without question, with that painful sensation burrowing deep into his void like belly, that the child is missing.

That the child is _gone_.

And yet even after he picks up that single item, he searches, all night. The child's parents' fears will become very real, soon enough. It will be a _miracle_ if the child does come home...

... alive...

The dogs search all night as well, though Robert knows the attempts are in vain. He sends Freddie and Jonesy out near the Bowers' residence, the clown's Pomeranian form joining them with the doll in its mouth...

Robert stops in the middle of a single street, that all too familiar road that lingers in his dreams, manifesting them into nightmares, haunting him like the most malevolent of spirits... he dreams of that night, in October, as he envisions himself devouring Georgie, not sparing the little boy from his hunger... he dreams of that night that Bill was attacked by Patrick... his nightmares imagining him being too late and he finds Bill's corpse, broken and mangled, in blood stained pajamas, in the wet street, beside the storm drain... eyes pale as death, glazed over with it, staring at nothing in particular, except the clown... and he gazes up at the darkening sky, a mistiness in his eyes.

Yet he doesn't stop looking, on his own and with the dogs simultaneously, his view obscured only by the outskirts of this dirty little town, and his eye sting, his heart hurting, pulsing and throbbing, pounding with desperation and devastation, as he searches, all alone, the doll and the item in each of his gloved hands as the dogs return to Neibolt, _without_ the child. As he continues to search, he keeps bellowing out the child's name, knowing she would trust him...

... he grips the item even more tightly, having encouraged her, though she promised she would wait until the next day...

... **_she_**...

He bellows her name across the entirety of the town, using his power so that only she would hear, but with a broken sound akin to an agonized sob, he knows she won't. He openly bawls in the middle of the street, gloved fists beating against the ground, leaving behind indents as tiny shards break free from the street, as he wails her name. With the visage of a grown man, a creature older than time itself is openly crying, a broken thing, quite like a child who has lost something precious to them.

Or, more accurately, like a parent who has lost their precious child.

A parent who has failed their child.

 _You're a good guy_ , _Mr. Gray_...

His shoulders wrack with his sobs as he tries to think of _who_ could have done this. It wasn't him, he knows that. Grimly, he thinks that even if the police do bother to look for the child and question people about the girl's whereabouts, interrogate the people who saw her last, he certainly has an alibi... His full lower lip trembles as he understands that she didn't do it, though she had manifested herself on the bus, but she's locked away in the dream world --

He blinks.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

His fists clench, obsidian claws digging into the fabric of his gloves and tearing through them, piercing his flesh, paper grumbling underneath his grip, as his teeth grit together, sharpening against his will as his eyes bleed scarlet. He shakes, grunting and growling, jerking and flailing, like a rabid dog about to attack, as he slams his fists into the road beneath him, leaving behind deep holes in his wake, before digging his claws into the road beneath him, eyes flashing _orange_.

He would have no alibi to speak of, and there was definitely _motive_.

Robert snarls, vicious and monstrous, unaware of the old lady's cat watching him with a petrified expression, as he thinks that even if the girl hadn't been _asleep_ , it was still a possibility...

The clown can imagine only two, maybe three, other beings that would have taken the child from Derry. The clown knows that the child didn't just leave Derry, not on her own two feet and not with someone else. He knows this, he can just tell. He just knew it. He knows this, just as he knows that between those two, maybe three, entities, only one of them would actually do this... and in a destructive manner...

Turtles do not destroy. They _create_.

Gan was a possibility, but Robert was doubtful.

Dream demons, on the other hand... especially one who would have a vendetta against him... who would use a child do to his bidding...

His eyes become orange orbs glowing inside his skull as he roars, his voice inhuman and _furious_ , the echoing octaves nothing short of _monstrous_ , making the storm drain rattle;

" ** _FREDDY_**!"

Deep within the dark heart of the dream world, the realm of nightmares, Freddy Krueger is alone. He is not laughing, and instead he is rolling his eyes, grumbling under his breath;

"I slice open one kid and now I get blamed for _everything_."

Robert forces his eyes to close as he loses his clown form and slips into the shadows, almost diving into the storm drain on the corner of Jackson and Witcham as he forces himself to fall asleep, the cat watching. He can't kill Freddy in the dream world, he knows that, just as he knows that he could kill Freddy, over and over again, in the living world and the dream demons would continue to resurrect him, but he doesn't care about that. All he wants is to find the girl...

He knows Freddy is perfectly capable of removing someone's entire existence from the living world, altering reality by using dreams, which is exactly what he did to Carlos, Spencer, and John Doe... in that order.

Robert refused to let him add a little girl to that list...

He trembles, hoping that's the case, just as he hopes that this is Freddy just screwing with him, an act of petty revenge for being devoured, and he prays that the child wasn't...

... that she wasn't...

... **_dead_**.

**********

He recognizes the place almost instantly, even as he stares at the bright neon lights with an unreadable expression. He's unimpressed, for starters, but he's mostly just surprised. He had half expected to find himself within the dark, gothic side of the dream world, the dark heart of it, perhaps even the labyrinthine parts of the realm, with countless stairways and doorways branching off into different sectors of the uncharted realms. He almost expected to find himself in the very chapel where Alice, the Dream Master, had faced off against Freddy or even in the boiler room of Freddy's old workplace.

The point was, he had expected something more... _sinister_. Not... _this_.

A dimly lit, rather seedy looking bar. He recognizes it as the very one Donald Thompson frequented after the death of his wife, where his daughter, Nancy, and Dr. Neil Gordon, came to find him so they could get the location of Freddy's bones... He realizes then that he isn't the only one who looks back on his past, which is filled with bloodshed and carnage, death and devastation, a way to reminisce on times long since gone...

Robert shakes his head, sighing as he pushes open the door, grimacing, his nose crinkling, his lips curling, at the strong, putrid reek of cigarette smoke and alcoholic beverages...

The bar is exactly the same as he remembers it, with the same pool table and dim lighting, the same old TV with the large back sitting on a shelf behind the bar in the corner, with multiple lit up words for advertisements. The same old jukebox playing that same old song, the place smoked over with the stink of cigarettes and cigars, stained with the reek of booze, cheap and not. There are a few differences to this scene, which includes the smaller TV sitting off to the side, at the booth in the farthest corner, where a little blonde girl sits, her hair up in pigtails, held up by red ribbons, wearing a pink dress with dashes of white on it, black Mary Jane shoes on her little feet. She's drinking an apple juice and watching an old cartoon on the TV.

Robert raises an eyebrow, especially as he sees Donald Thompson sitting at a table with Wes Craven, the former drinking away while the latter is writing something down. He recognizes the little girl as young Katherine Krueger, or Maggie Burroughs, and as he gazes back to the bar, he sees that Freddy is the only one sitting at it.

Behind the bar is a waitress, who he recognizes as the older version of Alice Johnson, back when Freddy was taunting her in her dreams after the deaths of Kincaid, Joey, Kristen, Sheila, and Rick, just before he went after Debbie... disturbingly enough, Freddy is currently eating a pizza. With little sausages and pepperoni decorating it.

He still wears that same fedora, that same red and green striped sweater, and the same bladed glove. His face is still burnt over, forever scarred and disfigured by the retribution of the Springwood parents...

"It ain't _Scream 5_ he's writing, you know," Freddy says, not even looking at the clown.

Robert stares at him, suspicious.

"Even dead they just won't stop. I mean, make a remake or some shit. Mine sucked but still," Freddy says, chuckling slightly. Low and gravelly. "I mean, yours was _okay_. Until the sequel."

"Shut up," Robert says, cold and distant.

"Ouch," Freddy says, sounding blunt and uncaring but Robert knows better.

He's on Freddy's turf now. There is no Nancy or even Amanda to summon, not when he was in Freddy's core, and he doubts they would come to his aid anyway. He can't read Freddy the same way he was able to when he brought Freddy out of the dream world. He's certain Freddy can read him, however.

"Doesn't feel so good, does it?" Freddy asks, the barest traces of a grin, sadistic and vile, forming on his lips.

"No," Robert admits, clenching his hands into fists. Obsidian threatens to tear through the fabric of his gloves, but he holds back. "Where is she?"

"You're barking up the wrong tree, clown boy," Freddy says, staring at his beer even as Robert's eyes flash a lethal red. "She ain't here. I ain't got her. Pretty smart though, thinking I was altering shit again."

Robert stares at him, a coldness in his eyes. They steel over, undaunted. He doesn't like the fact that he can't tell if Freddy is lying to him or not. He isn't wrong when he says the dream world, this side of it, is his. The Dream Demons made sure of that. Nancy, Amanda, and all of Freddy's victims, the ones that came after the madman's death, may guard the good side of dreams, but Robert isn't stupid. He knows he is alone in this.

"Nah, I ain't into that," Freddy says, shrugging carelessly. "Gave up on killing a while ago. Since 2003, actually. 2010 don't count... fuck, I'm old."

Robert scoffs, eyes flashing orange.

"Tell that to Bill's wrist," he says, his tone icy.

Freddy rolls his eyes again.

"You and I both know I can slice a person open like your bitch sliced you open in that meat store," Freddy says, sounding bored. "That shit was vanilla."

Teeth sharpen, fabric tears, the clown's fingers lengthen, becoming a monster's hands.

"You --"

"Your girl isn't here," Freddy says, not at all bothered. "I don't have her. I gave up on that a long time ago," he says, lowering his eyes. "Sometimes I have Saxon and Craven sit with me."

"Your reputation is against you," Robert says coldly.

"So's yours," Freddy retorts. "'Course, only you and I know about the shit you've pulled."

Robert lowers his own eyes, trying not to remember. He closes them, scowling.

"Where is she?"

"I don't know," Freddy says, his voice blunt. "If I was going to go after one of your precious kids, I'd go after Bill or Georgie. You know that."

"You're the monster of dreams, the core of nightmares themselves," Robert says, "and you're telling me that you don't know where the girl is? You're telling me that you didn't take her? I'm no expert, but it's not exactly fun getting eaten."

"Yeah, you're the guy who does the eating," Freddy says. He shrugs again. "It's not the first time I've been killed... I mean, it was one of the more creative and brutal ways, sure, it'd make a nice _Mortal Kombat_ fatality, really don't get why they made it Rambo instead of Ash, but it wasn't the first time. Might be the last, but unlike you I'm not..." Robert stares at him, Freddy grumbles; "... okay, I'm petty, but not _that_ petty. I don't have your kid, clown. Now, sit down and have a drink with me."

Robert glares at him, his eyes like two chips of ice, arctic in their fury.

"I don't drink."

"First time for everything," Freddy says. "But what you're really worried about is getting killed, here and now. I'm not exactly planning on stabbing you in that bleeding heart of yours. I'm over that whole thing."

Robert stares, his eyes questioning. Yet he approaches the Dream Demon and even takes the seat on Freddy's left. He's annoyed with how nonchalant, how uncaring, Freddy is over the fact that a young girl was missing and the clown is scared. He glares at his gloved hands as he rests his arms on the bar, not accepting the glass of whiskey that the waitress slides his way.

Freddy smiles slightly, even lifting up the beer.

"Cheers," he says before taking a long drink.

Robert hasn't a doubt he's on an unlimited supply of it, without risk of a horrible hangover. He gazes around the interior, wondering.

"What's with the bar? I would've pegged you for some kind of surreal horror scene," Robert says quietly. "Literally out of a Wes Craven film."

"Some people come to the bar to escape the horrors of reality," Freddy says, almost wisely. He smiles slightly, Robert staring at him with faint surprise. The smile Freddy wears on his burnt face is a sad thing, as he's clearly remembering something, and remembering it fondly as well as miserably. "I used to come here. A lot, actually. Most people left me alone, I liked that. Sometimes some asswipe would try and pick a fight with me to impress either his friends or some bar skank. Not exactly an intelligent idea to pick a fight with the town maniac, don't you think?"

Robert is silent. Freddy sighs. Heavily.

"Never finished high school. Had two dead end jobs in my whole life. It was no wonder I ended up here, night after night, day after day," Freddy says, scowling. He looks up at nothing in particular, his gaze vacant. "Then Loretta came along. The drinking lessened, but not by much." He smiles again, remembering something fondly so, though Robert could tell the ending to that memory was sad. "Then Katherine came along. I gave up drinking for her." He says, jabbing his thumb behind himself and pointing it at the little girl. "Sometimes I like to have them visit."

"Even though it makes you sad to think about?" Robert inquires, knowing that was the case without listening to Freddy's thoughts.

He knows exactly how that feels. To remember your past, both sadly and fondly. The good parts and the bad ones, though the latter always seemed to outweigh the former.

Freddy's eyes lower.

"Yeah," he says, his voice soft and low. He chuckles, smiling. A bitter, hollow thing. "I didn't take your precious kid, Clowny. I don't have her. I stopped hunting people in their dreams... 17 years ago, is it? Almost 18... Billy Boy was just to fuck with you, and to get you to pull your head out of your ass."

Robert stares at him, unsure.

"Do you really expect me to just believe you? I've seen your bloodshed, your _carnage_ , I know your body count, before and after your death. I know about the twenty kids from when you were alive."

Freddy closes his eyes, visibly tensing, as Katherine glances over at them. Freddy scowls again, the burns on his face contorting horribly.

"The Bastard Son of a Hundred Maniacs," Freddy says, his voice low and dangerous. _Mad_. "My own _mother_ told me my _birth_ was a curse on the whole of humanity..." he chuckles, gravelly, still ever the bitter and hollow thing. "You're wondering why I killed those snot-nosed little bastards, aren't you? The ones before Tina Gray?"

Robert continues to stare, and Freddy scoffs.

"You know, there is a little part, a deleted scene, where Marge tells Nancy a little secret," Freddy says, glaring at his drink now. "About how she wasn't always an only child. Same with Tina and Glen and even Rod."

"The kids you killed," Robert says. "When you were alive."

"Yeah," Freddy says, almost growling, his gloved fingers clenching around the beer bottle. The blades scratch along the glass of it. It even begins to crack under the strain, webs of breaking glass forming along the surface, reminding Robert painfully of spider webs. "Around twenty kids, when I was alive. A pretty small number compared to what happened after they killed me, isn't it?" Robert is silent. Freddy's eyes lower, a sadness overtaking their pale depths. "Do you have any idea how it feels... well, I guess you wouldn't... no offense, but... knowing, even before I was born, that the woman carrying me had no... _love_ for me?"

Robert's eyes widen slightly, surprised.

"It's a cold world out there, but it was even colder when I was still with her," Freddy says grimly. "I mean, yeah, I know, I'm a sociopathic asshole who murdered a whole lot of kids and slashed up your kid but where do you think sociopaths come from?" Freddy asks. "Hell, even the backstory they came up for the doll was that his dad was an abusive prick to him and his mom. Who fucking knows why Tiffany is so messed up in the head. But the least those assholes could have done was taken me out of Springwood. They could have taken me to a number of orphanages, given me to any other person besides the town _drunk_... they could've changed my name, could've given me to a _loving **family**_... and instead I got jack shit."

"The parents whispered about me. Sometimes they didn't even remember to whisper. And so their little bastard kids made sure to remind me of it, every chance they got. On my way to school, at school, away from school. Anytime, any place. If I was there, they were too. And did mommy dearest give a shit? No, she didn't. Of fucking course not."

Robert cannot help but continue to stare, stunned to silence. He could see the broken man that was behind the burnt, scarred face of Freddy Krueger. It was then that he understood why Freddy had been holding that cheap mask of his own face. Metaphorical or not, literal or not, everyone wore a mask. Even he did, though his was more of a painting with a hidden meaning than anything else. The point was, masks offered the one thing that was next to impossible to come by; protection.

"I mean, I can't blame her for hating me but I didn't exactly _ask_ to be born. I didn't _ask_ to be put with an abusive asshole. I didn't _ask_ to be picked at, whispered about, pointed at... laughed at," Freddy stares at his bottle, a misty glaze distorting his eyes. "They wanted a Maniac Boy, I fucking gave them one. Dropped out of high school 'cause of all the fights... worked at the plant... only Loretta ever saw anything in me..." Freddy chuckles softly, a _paternal_ smile forming on his disfigured face. Robert found it rather heartwarming, and quite disturbing. "That's my specialty. Heartwarming and disturbing." Freddy shakes his head. "It was in the papers, my Katherine's birth. You know what it's like, don't you, clown? To hold such a tiny little thing in your arms?"

Robert does know what that is like, even if his experience mostly stemmed from the memories of a life he no longer lived.

"She was so tiny, my Katherine. I almost didn't want to hand her to Loretta. But... her little face... that little nose... the fact of knowing that I made something... something good even in that shithole of a town," Freddy says quietly, a watery smile forming, "and the way she reached out of that pink blanket and grabbed my finger with her tiny ones... I promised her, then and there, that I wouldn't let anybody hurt her, that I'd make it rain red if they did..." Freddy's eyes darken then. "Oh, I kept that promise, all right." He scoffs again. "You ever see that Halloween movie where he had a niece named Jamie?"

"Unfortunately," Robert says softly, his eyes flickering to a soft, powdery blue. He already understands where Freddy is going with this and for that, he feels empathetic.

"'Jamie's uncle's the Boogeyman'," Freddy says, shaking his head. "Real funny to pick on the kid who didn't ask for a murderer for an uncle. Now, can you imagine if the storyline for _Halloween_ didn't get totally stupid and where Uncle Mike might've been a good uncle to that kid? Maybe he would've sought revenge against her bullies..."

Robert glances at Katherine, who is pointedly not looking at him.

"Tina and Nancy, Glen and Rod, they all _had_ older siblings. Yes, they did. They all weren't always the only children in their families... Yes, I killed them," Freddy says, smiling that strange smile again. It makes Robert think that Freddy regrets what he's done, but he's finding it hard to do. "You know how I kicked that hockey puck's ass?"

"I think that was a mutual ass-kicking," Robert says, smiling pleasantly at the betrayed look that crosses Freddy's face.

"Go fuck yourself," Freddy says, scowling. "I'm trying to have a moment here and you're ruining it."

"Is that what you called it when you were boasting about that fight to Chucky?" Robert asks, still smiling. "And why you have a profound fear of Pamela Voorhees?"

"Anyone with a quarter of a brain cell would have a profound fear of that woman," Freddy says bluntly.

"You cried," Robert says, smiling a morbidly amused smile.

Freddy's eyes flicker, a hint of genuine fear tracing their pale depths, as well as annoyance.

"Yes, I cried," Freddy says unhappily. "The bitch hit me with a chair!"

He could haunt her dreams as well, but just as he fears her, he respects her. She actually loved her son, unlike his own mother. For that, he respects her. So, he won't.

"You did pick a fight with her son," Robert says, still smiling. "A mother's love is one of the most powerful forces in any universe."

"Shut up."

"The most powerful kind being the one who'd sooner throw herself at you before throwing herself in front of her child," Robert says, openly grinning at the pissed off look he gets.

"Yeah, well," Freddy grumbles. "Can I finish my monologue?"

"Continue."

Freddy just sighs.

"Back to that crossover, where _I_ won that fight," Freddy says, his eyes scanning the bar as though worried Pamela Voorhees might manifest in his dream and strike him, Robert rolling his own, "You noticed the little girl in the beginning, didn't you? The one who didn't have her eyes when Lori found her in the police station?"

"Yeah," Robert says, remembering. He's curious, he'll admit that.

"Yeah, that one," Freddy says, closing his eyes. "My bullies wanted a Maniac Boy, they got one. I loved that hamster, but you live with an abusive prick who teaches you that kind of shit is okay and see how _you_ turn out..." he scowls, viciously. "My Katherine was only _five_. And these little bastards cornered her at the playground. Almost like that scene from that _Pumpkinhead_ movie, _Blood Wings_ , where they cornered that Tommy kid and brutally murdered him and dumped him in the well all because he had a different face... Katherine, Maggie, whatever... she doesn't remember, but _I_ do."

His eyes scrunch shut, his teeth gritting.

"Messed up in my head or not, I'm still a _dad_. We remember _everything_..." he says, almost hissing. Those fuckers beat the _hell_ out of her, clown, a _five year old girl_. That's somebody's _daughter_ , and she just so happened to be _my_ daughter. They shoved her down, yanked her hair, spit on her, called her names... I took that little girl's eyes because she had the gall, the nerve, the fucking _audacity_ , to tell my little girl, my baby, that she had the 'Crazy Eyes'," Freddy says, still scowling. "I showed that little bitch what _real_ crazy eyes looked like."

Robert stares at him, disbelieving but understanding. He knows Freddy has no real reason to lie to him but he is surprised. At the same time, he isn't. He's seen, firsthand, what bullying does to people, the bullies and the victims alike.

"You're telling me that the only reason you started killing kids was because they bullied your little girl?" Robert asks. He never knew that... he knew Freddy had been a victim of abuse his whole life by his adoptive father, Mr. Underwood, just as he knew Freddy had been a victim of bullying in his youth but still...

Freddy had always been difficult to read, even in the living world. There was when Robert was beating the hell out of him in the auditorium, but he was able to catch only snippets of what the man had been thinking... of course, Freddy had been sending his thoughts on purpose... almost like Patrick...

"Do not compare me to that asshole," Freddy says darkly. "But, yeah. And these kids were bigger than her. About the same age difference between Bill and Henry... only instead of it being Uncle Mike who became the Boogeyman, Daddy Freddy did."

Robert blinks with shock, staring, as the beer bottle shatters suddenly in Freddy's hands, the clown having missed how the cracks had formed all along the glass. The shards fly all over the place, scattering across the bar and clinking against the floor, a few even piercing the leather of Freddy's glove and even the scarred skin underneath.

"They _**attacked** my **little girl**_ , clown," Freddy says, his teeth gritted as he glares at nothing in particular. "And while they were kicking her, punching her, spitting on her like she was garbage, saying she had the 'Crazy Eyes', and all of this while she was bawling, not even fighting back, screaming for them to stop. I fucking turned away for two seconds to get her an ice cream cone! All of this shit in broad daylight, at the playground, and did anybody put a stop to it? Of fucking course not! Parents and kids, they just stood there and _watched_!" he snaps, almost yelling. "These little fuckers told her all kinds of nasty things about her grandmother and even nastier things about me, and when I showed up, knocking one of the boys on his ass, shoved him down by his ugly little face, ready to put my boot up his ass, you know what he did? He screamed and snotted all over himself, pissed himself, saying that the _Maniac_ attacked him."

Robert closes his eyes, seeing it perfectly clear already.

"And they took the children's side," he says, shaking his head as he scowls.

"They _wanted_ a maniac, I _gave_ them one," Freddy says darkly. "Yeah, I know, I killed kids, but every single one of them was a little monster. It was those four at first, Nancy, Rod, Glen, and Tina's older siblings, and then it just kept going. Can you believe that?"

"Yes..."

"They had no evidence at the time that I was the one behind the murders, but those little jerks just kept pushing around my little girl. Of course, the courts didn't exactly give a shit. Can you believe that judge was drunk when he signed the papers? That whole town was a cesspool of bullshit. And then they did to my little girl what they couldn't have bothered to do with me; they took her away from me, renamed her... and now, every day, until the day she dies, she'll hate me..." Freddy says, lowering his eyes.

A sadness in their endless depths of misery and suffering, never ending despair. The eyes of a man who was already broken and still managed to lose everything.

"Don't act like you wouldn't kill anyone that hurt the kids you care about. I can see the way you dream of killing Bill's dad... Beverly's, too... and you killed me just the same over a kitten scratch."

"I would," Robert says softly, ignoring that last bit.

That was _not_ a kitten scratch.

Yet a question strikes him then as he gazes at the notorious Springwood Slasher, the nightmare of Elm Street...

"Why tell me all of this?"

Freddy shrugs.

"Being dead for so long... really takes it outta you," he says. "Guess knowing that so much time has passed, it gets to you. It's good to get things out." Freddy stares at him, almost defenisvely, his eyes steeling over. "I thought _you_ would at least understand."

The clown looks away.

"Of course, you and I both know that it's the kids in Derry that need protecting," Freddy says, clearly changing the subject. For both of them. "Your tiny clowns can rip the arms off anyone who even tries by themselves. What is that all about, anyway? I mean, you're that guy, aren't you? The one who made the deal with those Losers?"

"No," Robert says, barely above a whisper as his eyes become ominous yellow, though it isn't a means for intimidation or threatening. "I'm not that guy anymore."

"Why not?"

Robert closes his eyes as the scar on his chest pulses and throbs, seemingly having a heartbeat of its own even though his own lies just underneath it. He often finds himself wondering, contemplating, if that truly was another heartbeat just above his own, the beating heart of the other version of him...

 _The **other** clown_...

Unless, of course, _he_ was the other guy... He wasn't sure anymore...

"Did I ever tell you about Bob Gray?"

It's Freddy's turn to stare, curious.

"The guy King originally based your bitch from the book on or the guy who's face you stole?"

"Second one," Robert says, unimpressed but he holds back his commentary on who Freddy was based on.

"Easy," Freddy says, his eyes glinting dangerously. "But no, you didn't."

Robert sighs as he looks into his reflection through his glass, though he hasn't drank even a sip. He sees the painted face of Robert "Bob" Gray looking back at him, just as he can see his true form flickering behind this physical form's eyes. Only, there are a few differences to the face he currently wears and the face of the man he remembers. He can see his true from lingering behind his eyes, the windows to his being -- souls are for humans -- and he frowns, red painted lips curving downwards into a Sad Clown's frown.

He is what he is, what he was before he ever even encountered the Losers Club, in this world or any other world, before he even ventured from the void of the Macroverse, from his home, and came to this diseased world... a being of light, an endless void of light and piping music, the latter eerily similar to circus music, with the harsh, deadly beats of his own heart... a being that the human eye and brain could not comprehend upon seeing, lest they become catatonic or die instantly.

An endless creature, hairy and crawling, with countless limbs quite alike that of a spider, an orange one...

He remembers what she looked like before her death by William Denbrough's will. Another being of an endless void, a being of light and piping music, so alike the sinister ballad of circus music... a _beautiful_ being. Beautiful and deadly. Stars were not nearly as bright, seeming quite dull in comparison.

She, but not. She, but beyond. Human terms inapplicable. A being of light and music, of destruction and madness, violence and _loveliness_ unlike any other...

"It wasn't exactly a lie, when I told Victoria that people made fun of him because of how he looked," Robert says quietly.

"The kid who's face you bit off on the count of three?"

Robert's eyebrows furrow, knitting together, his frustration rising.

"Right, sorry... I forgot, you turned pussy and made a birthmark into a butterfly," Freddy says, holding the side of his face with the palm of his hand and propping his elbow up onto the bar as he stared at the clown. "Continue your monologue."

Robert just grumbles.

"He had a bit of a large head, with large front teeth, and his lower lip curved down, and one eye was lazier than the other," he says, still staring at his reflection. He had only kept the fact that his eyes seemed to gaze in two different directions. The rest of it, he had forwent the fluffy, spiked up ginger hair and the bulbous head with the large front teeth and the protruding lower lip, making the rest of it the face of the actor... He shakes his head. "He came to this country with fourteen dollars in his pocket, tired of the abuse, and up and joined the circus. He never asked for a handout. Not that anyone would ever give it to him, of course."

He smiles, a sad thing.

"They _loved_ him. The circus and the audiences. They loved him and his clown persona, the Great Pennywise the Dancing Clown," he says.

"Oh, they just loved how he danced and brought smiles to the faces of children and adults alike. That circus was a place for different people who were unloved by society, and that fact strengthened the bonds they shared together. Just like the Losers Club. The people of that circus were considered freaks by people who claimed to be normal, but they didn't care. They had each other and loved their fellow freaks and they had fun. They didn't have animals, not like Circus Zaragoza, but still. Oh, but he just _loved_ being the clown. He loved handing out the balloons the most, though his were never red like mine. They were always pale colors, pinks and blues, greens and yellows."

Robert lowers his eyes, guiltily.

"While with the circus, he met a beautiful woman and had a beautiful daughter. Of course, when she realized that the clown makeup was only greasepaint and the red paint and the lipstick, and she realized that was his actual face, she ditched the baby on him."

"And that kid grew up to be Mrs. Kersh."

"Yeah." Robert's eyes change. Stormy gray. "She was a keen girl, that one. She was his whole world. She loved being with the circus and all the weird but nice people. They were far nicer than the rest of the world they traveled around. And... and then..." he closes his eyes, remembering the screaming...

He had been, well, _younger_ then. At least as young as a 20 billion old entity could get, that is. And how he had gorged himself on that entire circus, saving Bob Gray and his daughter for last.

"The circus always knew there was something wrong with the dirty little town of Derry. That's why they never explicitly came into its limits, always staying on the outskirts. Oh, how Bob Gray _shined_ ," he says darkly. "His little girl, too. It didn't just happen in the world I claimed as my own, this town I nested in. In all of our worlds, the ones we claimed, the ones we lashed our ropes to, he begged for his daughter to be spared from the hunger of It. He held her, in his arms, in his trailer, as they listened to their fellow circus members screaming as they were devoured. By the faceless, nameless monster that lurked underneath Derry's already dark heart."

He sighs, remembering every last desperate plea. The worst part was that every circus member had tried to save each other, not even one daring to throw another into harm's way. Some had even tried to bargain with him, not just Gray...

 _Please_ , _please_! _Not my little girl_!

And he remembers his own taunting words, his feeling of _amusement_ at the fact that a pile of quivering, mewling flesh was daring to bargain with It. He remembers his own cruelty;

 _Tasty_ , _tasty_ , _beautiful **flesh**_...

In reality, or at least Robert's reality, Bob Gray was the first to ever stand up to It. Or, at the very least, stand up to "Robert". Bob Gray, and his death, were the real reason Robert preferred to go by the full name instead of being called Bob or Bobby. That and he simply had a preference for the name Robert.

Not that he would ever tell anyone that, except Freddy, maybe Pamela, and possibly Bill... He knew that she, in her world, had devoured Bob Gray and the girl who would have grown up to be Mrs. Kersh all while taking on the persona of the clown, having become fond of it after watching how kids, so _shiny_ and full of _flavor_ , would easily run up to him and gladly take a balloon, becoming such easy prey... Oh, what a strong willpower Bob Gray had, especially when it came to his family; the circus, and his daughter.

"You were the only one who spared her, weren't you?"

Robert is silent. Freddy knows the answer.

"She thought it was amusing. So did I," Robert says grimly. "How the little mewling quim wanted his offspring to live, willing to trade himself for her. We all took his form, though every world had a variation of it. It's why the clown suits and the face paint and even the actual faces look slightly different. No two worlds are exactly the same. She, like me, took his form, his likeness, that version of him, and killed his daughter after. Her hunger was satiated for quite some time after that, and nobody else gave a damn. I was the only one who let her live..."

"Why?"

Robert looks up, his eyes blank.

"I don't know," he admits. "My luck is that we've had this conversation already. That we'll have it again and not realize it."

"What?"

"Don't go into the tall grass," Robert says grimly. "But... I just didn't want to. In that old life, I can't remember exactly why, but I feel as though someone was telling me not to do it. More than just her father. She had accepted it, death, and was waiting to be reunited with him. But I didn't kill her, and she took the secret of Derry's monster to the grave with her. Never told a soul, not even her husband."

"Smart woman."

"Yeah," Robert says miserably. "I suppose the one kindness they all did Bob Gray was that they killed his daughter after instead of making him watch or making her watch. I... I didn't kill her, but that wasn't a kindness, that was cruelty. She was forced to live with the haunting memories of watching her father be killed, forced to live with the knowledge of the monster of Derry, to know exactly why the children went missing, why people whispered about it but never said anything outright, and she couldn't do a damn thing about it. She was plagued by nightmares for the rest of her days, unable to forget, and even when she married, she ensured she never had a child."

"I did this. I killed her world's Losers... including Bill. I saved him and Audra for last, even made him watch as I killed his wife... but I lied. I lied to my old world's Losers. I told them I killed them, in every single universe. That was a lie. I only wanted to frighten them... season the meat on their bones before going in for the kill..." his eyes burn like fire. "... you were taunting John Doe with the fact that he was the last one, the last kid in all of Springwood, but do you have any idea how that feels? To know that you're the last one? With or without a huge target on your back?" His voice cracks, almost breaking.

She never understood why he hadn't killed Bob Gray's daughter. None of them did. During their sleep cycles, though they rarely lined up, they often visited each other. Comparing kills, mostly. She knew it cruel that he let Mrs. Kersh live, and had been _impressed_. It was only through their shared mindscapes that the others knew of the haggish, rotting Mrs. Kersh. Because of Robert.

He misses those times, despite the bloodshed and carnage. The crippling loneliness, the sheer isolation, even with a little boy, a thirteen year old, floating in Robert's Deadlights... he had been so alone... he was still alone, even now...

"But I still killed those Losers, the ones of that world... and what an imbalance it caused... the scales of the Macroverse tip ever so slightly, but just enough..."

"Why?"

"The Losers were created," Robert begins, morosely, "I haven't a doubt it was to destroy us. To kill us while Maturin did nothing. He was never cruel, only kind and gentle, wise and benevolent, but it wasn't his idea. I suppose the Other didn't want her offspring to live on and hide in the shadows of the Macroverse, feasting upon Maturin's creations."

"And what about your bundles of joy?"

Robert's eyes burn and sting and even water as he thinks of them. Georgie, Roberta, Henrietta, their brothers and sisters... over a hundred, but not hundreds. His lower lip quivers as he thinks of their smiling faces. Georgie's face matching his own, at least where the ginger hair and blue eyes were concerned, while Roberta matched him to a damn T, though her eyes were greenish blue instead of starlight blue, and Henrietta matches Bill, though Robert has only seen her through Georgie and Roberta's memories...

"They aren't the same," he says, whispering. "They weren't born of two beings. They were born of blood and of flesh, of bone. The human way. They aren't human, but they've got human forms. Their lights shine underneath."

"And what about you?" Freddy inquires.

Robert looks away. He knows what Freddy is going to ask, and he doesn't want to answer, but he has nobody else in this dark place. And he isn't just referring to this end of the dream world.

"What about me?"

"You aren't dead, are you? You're still kicking, same as Billy Boy. Didn't Mikey only get you once?"

Robert stares at nothing, his eyes glazing over. Vacant. As though his mind isn't with him anymore. He remembers.

"It hurt," Robert says, his voice breaking again, the clown flinching as phantom pains haunt him like malevolent spirits. "It hurt like a son of a bitch and even bled. It was like being ripped in half, literally being split in two. And, oh, what a nasty trick that was. Mikey honestly thought he had killed me, all of the Losers thought he had, even Bill, but he _didn't_."

He grins, a wicked thing. Yet sad at the same time.

"I made them feel _guilty_ for it. They didn't realize... they didn't fight me as children, their wills together did not face mine and send me into an early hibernation until round two. 27 years later. Of which, I would have died. All Stan had to do was wait for Richie to pick up that baseball bat and they would have won. No, they left Billy to die..."

He closes his eyes.

"I came back. In more ways than one. I wasn't dead. But I was changed. I didn't fade. It was another 27 years before they were born. Worlds can coexist with each other. It's why the multiverse is known as an infinite stream of existence."

He chuckles, hollow and bitter.

"A butterfly's wings are said to cause a hurricane on the other side of the world. The Butterfly Effect," he says sorrowfully. "This world is merely an extension of that one. Just as I am an extension of that guy... they don't know of my existence, of this world's exists, that me or even Billy, only Georgie and Roberta... I would like to keep it that way... This world was caused by my killing her world's set of Losers, creating an imbalance in that world, and my living on in my world, though Mike did stab me... I think this is simply the Macroverse's way, the Other's way, of trying to correct the past. Bill slumbers, it isn't the 27 year sleep cycle, but...

He chuckles again.

"Why do you think I sent Georgie and Roberta back? Oh, they'll get back in, I'm sure. It's exactly like trying to keep your kid from doing the exact opposite of what you just told them. Literally Thing One and Thing Two. I haven't a doubt that Bill would come looking if they're gone for too long..." he closes his eyes. "See, when she created her offspring, she knew they would leave as soon as they were able, realizing what they were and what they could do... spiders aren't exactly the maternal sort... but Bill was human before then... This world, these Losers, myself, I imagine it's merely Gan's way of trying to end the cycle before it begins. Her ghost haunts me, because I was the one who put her light after her death into that boy, all those years ago, after killing the Losers of that world... and... and then..."

"... the _moment_ Mike stabbed me, it was sealed. Almost like making a deal with any devil. Georgie, Roberta, Henrietta, all of them, they're my kids but they aren't. They're _his_ kids. That version of me. The old me. I'm just... I'm like her. I'm just a shadow of a life that once was, made to suffer."

He smiles slightly.

"I only met Georgie and Roberta recently, when they were exploring the Macroverse for themselves. Everything was the same as that old life, only I lured the children in with button-eyed dolls that resembled themselves like I was a Beldam rather than a Deadlight. At that time, I had no memories of that life from before even though I always felt a presence lingering with my own, though I could never understand who it was or why it was happening. And when Georgie and Roberta came along, literally taking a wrong turn in a far off galaxy, they ended up here, and it was like getting stabbed by Mike all over again..."

"... it was just so... sudden. It was like a veil had been lifted from my eyes, a dam flooding in my thoughts, or even having been wandering around a mist of my memories and the fog finally dissipated. And then she came along, manifesting and forming like a dark cloud, a wicked spirit circling, waiting, and since that Bill still breathes, still lives, she exists, too. A cursed ghost, but not that of a human."

He remembers her, always, unable to stop thinking of her. A beautiful being. A divine entity of music and a void full of never ending, deadly light. A beautiful being, a creature far more powerful than the most powerful of gods, surpassing the most ancient of Titans... and yet...

... she was gone.

... yes, and no.

Robert found himself in his depressive state when he realized he could hardly remember her name anymore. A name unspeakable for human tongues. He often found himself forgetting his own name before he took on the name Robert. He gave up being Pennywise, loathed being called Bob because it reminded him of the circus performer he murdered, the daughter he condemned to a fate worse than death, and yet this clown form was still his favorite. They had all favored the clown form because it lured prey in so easily, adults and children.

Moths to the flame.

He was no longer Pennywise the Dancing Clown. After the death of Bob Gray, Pennywise became an alias, a persona for killing. A dark, evil thing. He was just... he wasn't that guy... not anymore...

... he was...

... some _other_ guy...

Some other _thing_...

Some other _clown_...

Freddy stares at him, looking empathetic but confused.

"Why do you care so much anyway? Why the change of heart? Other than getting stabbed in it?"

"Bill."

It isn't lost to the Dream Demon on just _how_ the clown whispers that boy's name.

"Leaving someone in your mindscape for 27 years..." Robert says quietly, "... he wasn't the only one who changed. Leaving him in my mindscape for so long, I was no longer my same old self, either. He was becoming less... human... while I was becoming more... human. I guess I developed a sense of morality. The guilt is the worst part. I understood then how it felt to lose a sibling, and I lied to Bill, too... I told him I didn't regret killing Georgie... even now, I don't think he knows that the old me would have taken it back if he could have... it was a lie, that I didn't regret it..."

"So, that's why you didn't kill him in this world," Freddy says, understanding flashing in his eyes. "Huh."

"That, among other reasons," Robert says softly. "He let Bill name his firstborn after that boy... and he was exactly that, a scared little boy who wanted his big brother to come and save him, who's final thought wasn't even the fact that Bill had lied to him, but that all he wanted was his big brother."

He lowers his eyes once more, the pangs of guilt and regret stinging him like the stingers of wasps and hornets, piercing him like her chitinous limbs... or a broken piece of fence.

"You know, just because you fucked a whole lot of shit up in a past life doesn't mean you don't deserve some kind of happily ever after in the next one," Freddy says. "Even a fucked up happily ever after."

"Wisdom, they name is Freddy Krueger."

"I'm being serious," Freddy says, tapping his bladed fingers against the bar. "Listen, you and I both fucked up a lot of things in our lives. Only one of us gets a redemption arc. Don't fuck it up."

"Change of heart?" Robert asks, smiling slyly at him.

"Don't push it," Freddy says. "I haven't done a lot of things right in my life. Before and after I was burnt to a crisp. I did a lot of things wrong by Katherine. The least I can do is keep your bitch here."

Robert frowns.

His eyes flicker.

He feels guilty for an innumerable amount of reasons. He knows he's doing wrong by her, too.

"How is she?"

"Pissed," Freddy says, blunt as ever. "She's taken to holding dead spiders that look like somebody, I'm guessing Fatty Ginormous, stomped on them. I've been trying to get her to sing _Tears to Shed_ , but she tried to eat me. Same way Georgie was prepared to eat Mike after shithead tried to pick a fight. Guess it runs in the family." Freddy smirks slightly. "Bev's my favorite."

Robert stares at him, unimpressed.

" _Tears to Shed_? Really?"

"Hey, you've already got the dolls. And I saw that _Nightmare Before Christmas_ shit in your trailer," Freddy says. "I just thought you'd be Jack before were Sally."

"Shut up."

"Love you to, Bobby."

"I hate you."

"You love me."

"I half expected to see the face of Rick Johnson as one of the sausages on your pizza," Robert retorts.

"Nah, couldn't eat sausage pizza for a month after that," Freddy says, not exactly helping his case by using the blades on his glove to pluck the sausages from his pizza. "But explanations to our audience, at least the ones who still leave comments, aside --"

"What?" Robert asks, confused.

"Really? You reference _Into the Tall Grass_ and the mainstream universe but --" Freddy says, shaking his head. "Never mind." He sighs. "I don't have your kid."

Robert's frown deepens.

"I can't find her. She isn't anywhere in Derry. Only three begins besides myself could have done something like that and I know the turtle didn't."

"Well, I didn't do it. But you did miss one big clue, Shit-for-brains," Freddy says.

"Which would be what, exactly?"

"That little doll you found in the Barrens? It already had gotten in it," Freddy says. "You poured sawdust into every doll's mouth. Only after a kid dies does the sawdust turn to cotton. That doll was made with cotton." He grumbles. "Dumbasses."

Robert blinks, unsure. He knows he can't trust Freddy's word, certainly not in the Dream World, yet at the same time he knows Freddy doesn't really have a reason to lie to him. And he doesn't actually think the female turtle would have done this... unless... but... would the Other have done it? The Other didn't interfere anymore than Maturin did...

"But... is she alive?"

"Wish I could tell you," Freddy says, sincere. "Some of those little dream trinkets, they actually work at keeping me out. Not just the Hypnocil when you get the right dose of it. Or, if I can't see her, then some higher being, probably above even your pay grade, is keeping her from me. A guy, or broad, even I can't take on." Freddy grimaces, sincerely regretful. "If you can't find her, and I can't, then that kid is gone, buddy. I'm sorry."

It feels like being stabbed by Mike all over again. Sudden and painful. Agonizing. Robert's painted lips part as a desperate look flashes in his eyes. Freddy feels empathetic, because if that had been his Katherine, he would've raised more than just hell. And whoever did it would only _wish_ they were dead.

"I'm sorry," Freddy repeats, sincere.

"But..." Robert whispers, his eyes wide with genuine fear and confusion. Perhaps it was truly Gan's way of righting the wrongs of Robert's past but... he hadn't felt that presence in a long time... he wasn't lying when he told Mike that God wasn't there... "... who?" he asks, desperate.

"Wish I could tell you," Freddy says. "There... there isn't a guarantee that the kid is dead. She's just missing. Since the doll you made her is missing, along with her, then there's a chance the sawdust hasn't turned into cotton. So, there is still a chance that she's alive. Maybe your pal, the she-turtle, took her, thinking you were going to eat her."

"Maturin never interfered. Never bothered himself with saving a child," Robert hisses. "And this one was going to --"

He cuts himself off.

"I know," Freddy says grimly, also aware of what the other item was. "But she's not Maturin, now is she?"

Robert scowls, terrified. If that girl was dead, he would never forgive himself.

"You didn't kill her. You've got nothing to be sorry for," Freddy says, his voice stern. "But if I were you, I'd keep my eye on the kids that _aren't_ the Losers. 'Cause if she-turtle or big guy is trying to correct your mistakes, then they're the least likely to die... I'd keep my eye on the kids you know you've killed in that past life. Including her little friend."

Robert lowers his eyes. He scoffs, disbelieving.

Everything hurts.

"So, she's gone," he says, his lower lip quivering as his eyes _burn_. "I try to help these kids, to let them live the lives I took from them and there's just someone... something... that takes that away from me..."

Freddy stares at him, openly grimacing.

 _And he thinks he's a monster_ , he thinks, shaking his head.

Monsters don't cry over lost children, Freddy knows. Especially ones that aren't even his. Monsters don't feel guilty about killing, especially when what happened was from an old life. And all of the clown's kills, except for Macklin, have been purely accidental because he was starving himself (a moronic thing, in Freddy's opinion) but still. Freddy knows that the clown might've been like that, in a past life, an sadistic, borderline evil, bastard with no morals, but he wasn't. Not anymore. Freddy can see that. A question lingers;

"Why did you let Mike stab you?"

"Huh?"

The clown looks at him, confused by the question.

"You didn't fight back. You let Mike stab you. You could've run him through instead of the other way around. You've got the scar to prove it. Why?"

Robert lowers his eyes.

"The Other," he admits. "The imbalances in the Macroverse... me killing that world's set of Losers, her world's... I only faced Mike's will, only once, and it was enough to force me into an early sleep, but not enough to kill me... it was either that, or I would lose him... Bill... that version of him... back then... I don't know what the whole big plan is for me, in this life, and that's why I'm scared..."

Freddy stares at him, well aware of what the clown was thinking. He was also aware it took a lot for the clown to admit that last part. A whole lot.

"Gone doesn't mean dead, clown," Freddy says in his softest voice. "Not anymore."

"Sure," Robert says, pressing his gloved fist against his painted lips and trying his hardest not to start crying again.

Not in front of Freddy. Although, with the way the tears, crystalline and clear, start streaming down his painted cheeks, running along the red lines adorning his face, Freddy realizes now that the clown doesn't have the strength to wear his mask so profoundly anymore. That the clown's mask was starting to crack and break, just like the other clowns...

... the _dead_ ones...

"I'll keep my eye out for her," Freddy promises. "Who knows, maybe I can even try my hand at figuring out prophetic dreams. I bet I'd see a cute little redhead in your future."

"Shut up," Robert grumbles.

"I'm serious actually," Freddy says. "And, if need be, I can make up for some... bad karma. Even if that means asking for some... extra help."

The clown stares at him, surprised. And while he can see that Freddy is uncomfortable with the idea, he would still do it.

"You would do that?" he asks.

"Your depressive air is unappealing to my good nature," Freddy says, monotone but there's a smile forming. "But, yeah. I mean, I can't guarantee they'd say yes, my bitch of a mother especially, but considering the fact that it's children we're trying to _help_... There's just a lot of bad blood between us... the kind that never goes away... but even she wouldn't be as cruel as to stand idly by and let children... you know."

"She kind of did though," Robert says softly.

"Yeah," Freddy says, shaking his head before nudging the clown with his arm. "There's probably a really fucked up happily ever after somewhere for you in all that _mist_ ," Freddy says, pun intended. Robert gives a watery laugh.

"Talk about terrible endings. The movie, not the book," Robert says.

"Book ending was better," Freddy says, nodding in agreement. "But still, you might want to prepare the other kid."

His smile dies, becoming a frown.

"I don't know if I can," Robert admits.

"Trust me, it'll be a helluva lot better coming from you than anyone else," Freddy says honestly. He knows, for a fact, about how that little item will affect the clown's future, though Freddy only has an idea as to how the clown's story ends. Not that he plans on sharing that information. Not right now at least. Yet he smiles. "We're still friends, right?"

Robert gives him an unimpressed look.

"You cut Bill's wrist... I know, you could've done much worse but... in front of Georgie and..."

"That was just for fun. And it took away your hunger. Kitten scratch."

"That was not _fun_! Not for him!" Robert snaps.

"Vanilla," Freddy says, shrugging. "Question; do I get to invade dreams?"

"The hell kind of a question is that? You know --"

"Uh huh," Freddy says, waggling a bladed finger at him. "I didn't say the _kids_ ' dreams. At least, not the ones I know you'll rip my arms off over."

"You cannot kill Connor --"

"Fun as that would be, not him either," Freddy says, his eyes glinting dangerously.

Robert stares at him, understanding flashing in his eyes.

"No death," Robert says. He smiles, like a shark grinning, at Freddy's confusion. "He's _mine_."

"Got it," Freddy says. "Do I still get to see the tiny clowns?"

"I don't know," Robert says, eying him suspiciously.

"They're the only kids who don't hate my guts and who aren't afraid of me," Freddy says, shrugging.

Robert is about to say yes, because he knows Freddy likes being the "Cool Uncle" but stops. He smirks, sly.

"You'll have to talk to Bill about that," he says.

Freddy stares at him, his eyes widening with betrayal.

"The fuck? How am I supposed to do that if he doesn't even know?"

"Exactly."

"Prick," Freddy says, grumbling under his breath. "Well, I'm sure you're going to have a big moment, real soon."

Robert raises an eyebrow. Freddy shrugs.

"Believe it or not, these kids, this world's set of them, actually like you," he says. Robert stares at him, disbelieving. "Now, that kid may or may not come back. A wise person once said that the things we lose always come back to us, even if it's in a way we don't expect."

Despite the wisdom of those words, Robert cannot help but lower his eyes, sadness overtaking them. He promises her then that he will not let her be forgotten. And as his mind drifts back to the item he found in the Barrens, he barely registers Freddy's next words.

"Now, go find your happily ever after," Freddy says, but a darkness glints in his eyes, a frown forming. "But remember this, people are always, **_always_** , the worst kind of _monster_ there is."

The clown stares as Freddy flicks his blades and the clown disappears into thin air. He shakes his head, a grim note in his voice. "And he thinks _he's_ the _monster_ of this story."

**********

"Daddy, breakfast is ready," Beverly calls as she sets her dad's plate, scrambled eggs and bacon and pancakes, on the kitchen table. Her green dress, the one with the torn sleeve, rests on the back of her chair. She grabs her doll, which is smiling up up at her, the black button eyes _shining_. She brushes her fingers over the hair that matches her own, then trails her index finger over the black button key, a delighted, childish grin forming on her pink lips. Her smile widens when she hears the doorbell. "I'll get it."

She sets her doll back down onto the table. She heads for the door, wondering who it could be. She opens it, curious, peering outside and she smiles when she sees who it is. She undoes the chain on the door and smiles as she opens the door.

"Hi," she greets.

"Hi," Ben says, smiling a dork's smile.

She's happy to see him, but she can't help but wonder;

"Any particular reason you're here so early in the morning?" she asks, grinning as his chubby cheeks turn pink.

"Oh, um... I was just wondering..." Ben says, awkwardly clearing his throat, "... if I could... if you would be cool with me... um... walking with you to the circus?"

"You asking or offering?" Beverly asks, her grin stretching as his cheeks darken.

"Both?" he says, shy.

She laughs slightly.

"Definitely," she says, though her smile quickly turns into an awkward frown as she hears footsteps... loud ones... "I'll meet you outside," she says quickly, quietly.

"Got it," Ben says, understanding. "But... um..."

She raises an eyebrow, and smiles, sweet and soft, her heart and belly fluttering, when he pulls a postcard, with a lighthouse on it, out of his pocket.

"You're too sweet, Ben from soc," she says, meaning it.

Too sweet for her, she thinks.

"Not as much as you," Ben says, handing it to her. "I'll be... outside then."

"Sure thing, New Kid," she says, giving him a wink and he smiles. She shuts the door as he leaves.

Ben stands in the hallway of Beverly's apartment building, pleased with himself as he shrugs his shoulders, smiling a dork's smile. He knows it's silly, but he can't help but think that he must be the luckiest kid in all of Derry. He'd have to thank the clown later for inspiring him.

Beverly stands in front of her door, smiling to herself. She knows it's silly, but she can't help but think that she must be the luckiest girl in all of Derry. She does honestly think Ben is too sweet for a girl like her, especially as she reads his poem. A _haiku_. She _loves_ haiku.

"Eyes like summer skies,

Hopeful heart beating for you,

More than just a friend?"

\- Not-So-Secret-Admirer

She grins down at the postcard, her cheeks turning pink and feeling quite warm. Her own heart is beating funnily, a fluttery, tingling feeling pleasantly erupting in her belly. A bubbly sort of feeling. Ben really is too sweet for her. She wonders if he'd like a poem back, or if they could play some circus games together today and she could win him a prize... And as her eyes stare at that last sentence, walking into the kitchen table and standing just behind her chair, she smiles, sweet and soft.

 _Yes_ , she thinks, warm and bubbly.

"Who was at the door, Bevvy?"

No, she thinks, cold and terrified.

She jumps, hiding the postcard behind her back as her stomach seemingly plummets out of her body. She isn't quick enough, her dad spotting the fact that she has something in her hands, and he doesn't like the fact that she's _hiding_ whatever it is. From _him_ , no less. And judging by the frightened look in her eyes, the widening of them, he knows it's something she'd rather not have him knowing and he doesn't like that either. Not one bit.

"Whatcha got there?" he asks, mostly curious.

"Nothing," she says quickly, lying straight through her teeth. Her blue eyes are wide with _fear_.

A sternness crosses his darkening features as he extends his hand out, palm up. His tone leaves no room for argument, he isn't _asking_ ;

"Let me see that."

Her lips quiver as she reluctantly moves her arms out from behind her back. He frowns when he realizes its a postcard, knowing exactly why she would have one of those. Her eyes start to sting as he takes it from her, almost snatching it away, and her heartbeat isn't normal anymore. Her legs feel like lead, her belly feeling as though it was full of cold stones. Especially as he reads it. He scoffs as he looks back at her.

"You been doing something you shouldn't?" he asks. She shakes her head. She hasn't, not really, but she can see that her answer has made him angry. Alvin glares at her. What does she take him for, an idiot? Poetry, a haiku, no less, from someone. Some _boy_. A **_boy_**. Something dark stirs in the pit of his stomach at the mere idea of some boy, probably a loser, showing any kind of interest in his little girl. "You been fooling around with some boy? _Poetry_ from some boy?" He scoffs again. "A fucking _haiku_?"

Beverly jumps, her eyes burning, already becoming pink, her heart feeling like the postcard as she watches her dad rip it in half, an angry, unimpressed look on his face. He then rips it into smaller pieces and then into even smaller ones. Her lips tremble tearfully as he glares down at her, throwing the ripped up pieces at her feet.

"I worry about you, Bevvy," he says as she bends down to pick them up. "Sometimes I worry a lot."

"Daddy, please," she says desperately, on her knees, as she looks up at him, the ripped up pieces of Ben's postcard in her hands.

SMACK.

Beverly almost cries out, shocked and then _horrified_ , barely even registering the pain, as her head _snaps_ to the side. The tears burst like a dam breaking, streaming down her cheeks as her brain comprehends the fact that her _dad_ has just _hit_ her. Her _dad_ , of all people. Smacked her in the face like some kind of _whore_... Her insides clench and twist, her heart pounding in her chest, an icy trickle of fear slipping down her spine, as her brain forces her to register this terrifying fact. Her dad has been mean to her, yes, has yelled at her, insulted her, compared her to her mother, so cruelly, but he's never _hit_ her. He is supposed to _protect_ her, not _hurt_ her.

What she had to assume was going on inside his head was not good, though she knows that he is clueless about the rumors circling about her, about her and Henry, about her and her friends, and about her and the clown. It isn't like that. Especially with Ben. And her brain registers in those three seconds of getting hit that no matter what _she_ says, he'll never believe _her_. She just can't believe that he would _hit_ her; strike her like she was _trash_ beneath his feet.

 _You're trash_ , Gretta's cruel words echo in her head. _We just wanted to remind you_.

A sob breaks free even as she hangs her head down.

She doesn't _need_ reminding. She _knows_.

Alvin stares down at his daughter, the man realizing what he has just done. His hand is stinging, the palm already reddening, but he knows that Beverly's face must feel infinitely worse and he doesn't doubt there will be a red mark there for a while. Guilt swarms him like an angry nest of hornets. His eyes widen with realization. And genuine _horror_.

"Bev, I --" he reaches for her but she pushes both of her palms against his chest and shoves him back, gritting her teeth before openly sobbing, outright bawling, as she runs past him and grabs her dress from the back of her chair and her doll from the table and darts for the door.

He grows angry again, beyond pissed that she would shove him like that, and chases after her, not meaning to be threatening or dangerous but he's _pissed_. The sound of his footsteps thudding behind her are like thunder in Beverly's ears, a deadly storm soon to follow. She runs, nearly ripping the door open as she runs down the hallway and he chases her all the way down the steps.

His anger outweighs his guilt as he chases her all the way outside, the both of them missing the fact that Ben was standing next to his bike, waiting for her. She runs off into the street, narrowly and just barely avoiding oncoming cars driving by as her dad stops at the outside door, unaware that Ben was staring with shock, then upset, and then _guilt_.

"You get right the hell back here Bevvy or I swear to God I'll whip the skin off of you!" Alvin bellows, not caring about who might hear him as he watches her retreating form, her little doll from the circus in one hand and her dress in the other, the latter billowing behind her.

He shakes his head furiously and then storms back into the building, still unaware of the fact that Ben was staring with absolute shock and sheer guilt on his face. He jumps when he hears a door slamming, swallowing even as a lump forms in his throat and tears well in his eyes, making them sting.

He... he hadn't meant...

... had her dad found the poem?

... he didn't mean...

... he really messed that up, didn't he?

All he had wanted was to write her another poem, a nice one that complimented her eyes, a haiku, he hadn't meant for her dad to get angry with her...

"That could've gone better."

Ben jumps, his insides turning to ice as his feet turn to lead, when he hears Henry's voice. The cut on his belly pulses and stings as he jerks back, almost falling over and nearly knocking his bike on top of himself, when he sees the older boy leaning against Beverly's building the same way he had leant against the statue outside of the library when he, Patrick, Belch, and Vic had cornered Ben outside of the library.

He stares up at Henry with pure fear even as he stumbles, trying to stand. He tries to get onto his bike and hurry away, but his hands have turned clammy and the handles slip from his grasp, the bike clattering to the ground. He's about to run away, not caring about his bike or the fact that he knows he can't outrun Henry, the older boy simply watching, unimpressed but also guiltily.

"Relax, I'm not going to do..." Henry says, swallowing thickly, "... something stupid."

"Like hell you won't!" Ben snaps, his belly flaring with that familiar stinging pain of being _cut open_. He barely even registers the fact that he just swore. "You fucking _cut_ me! That's going to scar, you asshole!"

Henry flinches and his frown deepens, Ben barely noticing as he clenches his fists and glares at the older boy. His anger takes over, as a fiery protective feeling washes over him, a fire blazing in his veins. For Beverly.

"The hell are you even doing at her apartment, huh? If you even think about --"

Henry scoffs and glares at him, unable to stop himself.

"What, are you her knight in blubbery armor?" he asks, sneering, though it dims when he realizes Ben recoils, a hurt look flashing over his chubby face. Henry grimaces, silently scolding himself. "Shit... fuck... sorry... I, uh, I just... fuck..." Henry mutters, folding one arm over his chest, holding the elbow of the other arm with it as he beats his fist against his chin, trying to think. He was not good at this. "I came to... talk things out with her... if she'd let me..."

He doubted she would, but he supposed it was worth a shot. He just hadn't expected Tits-- dammit, _Ben_ \-- to be here before him, with a postcard in his hand, and he certainly hadn't expected Beverly to run out of the house, a very prominent red mark in the shape of a handprint on her cheek, with her dad, who was definitely pissed, chasing after her. He was being honest, though he had a feeling Beverly would sooner kick him in the nuts (not that he could blame her) than let him apologize.

"What's there to talk about?" Ben snaps, disbelieving. "You ruined her reputation in this town! Do you have any idea what Gretta insinuated about us? About Georgie? You -- you did the same damn thing!"

Henry grimaces, knowing that was true. Just as he knows about the dirty rumors circling Beverly and the clown just because of some dumb riddle and the fact that Beverly Marsh, out of all of the kids in Derry, out of all of the girls, was the only one to get some key from the clown... He wasn't the one who started that one, that was Connor, but he knew it was his fault nonetheless.

"Yeah, I know I did," Henry says, regretful. "That's why I came to..." he stops himself. "Never mind... I came at a bad time anyway..." His lips quirk as he stares at Ben. "I hate to break it to you, but I don't think her dad even knows that shit about her. The rumors."

Ben lowers his eyes, understanding what Henry is getting at.

"Great," he says, scoffing.

So, it wasn't even Henry who caused a rift between Beverly and her dad, but him.

"You know," Henry says, Ben looking back up at him with a coldness in his eyes unlike any other, the boy mistrustful and wary. With good reason, Henry knows, he can't blame him. "Somebody told me that apologizing helps."

Ben stares, Henry sighs.

"That was... completely uncalled for and..." Henry's eyes water, becoming misty, as his voice cracks, "... muh-messed up." He closes his eyes as he continues tapping his fist against his chin. "I shouldn't have cut you. I shouldn't have cornered you... and... that was so fucking wrong of me and it... it sucked... I shouldn't have done it..."

Ben stares at him, completely floored. Flabberghasted.

"I'm suh-sorry," Henry stutters out, his heart pounding as his insides form knots in his belly.

"What?" Ben asks, unable to believe what he was hearing.

"I said I'm fucking sorry!" Henry snaps, recoiling instantly. "Sorry..."

Shockingly, the sting of his wound, which is still scabby and itchier than hell, has lessened. Ben knows it will still scar over but... scars can fade over time, can't they? Physical ones, at least. He stares at Henry, wondering just who told him that apologizing helps. Weirdly enough, his first thought strays back to Georgie, who seems like the type to believe something like that. Childish naivety or not...

"Thanks..." Ben says quietly, not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"I don't expect you to forgive me," Henry continues, "but I'm working on _not_ being a total asshole."

"That's a long road to go down," Ben says, almost wisely.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Henry says, sighing heavily. He sniffles as he stares at Tub-- _Ben_. "Listen, you don't want to fuck this up like I did. So, what I think you should do, is go in there, explain yourself, and apologize for doing it stupidly."

"There was nothing stupid about it," Ben says defenisvely.

"Then why did it turn to shit?" Henry retorts.

Ben glares at him, biting his lower lip. He points a chubby finger at Henry.

"You -- I just --" Ben groans, not having a response. "Shut up."

"Ouch," Henry says, sarcastic but smiling, pleasantly amused. "Now, go and apologize to her dad. Get the terrifying, 'Meet the parents' moment out of the way."

Ben sighs, knowing that Henry was probably right when he said that apologizing would help but...

"If I have to go in, so do you."

Henry's eyes widen.

"Fuck that!"

And the older boy actually tries running for it. It was so ridiculous, it was almost funny. Even more ridiculously funny was the fact that Ben was able to catch him, even tackle him like a football player, before he could get away.

"Just go knock on the fucking door," Henry whispers, while yelling, at Ben, hiding behind the wall to the adjacent hallway.

He can't believe Fat-- _Ben_ , was able to drag him into the apartment like that... Mostly he's just terrified of what could happen if Mr. Marsh realizes there's _two_ boys in the hallway...

"Well, what do I say?" Ben whispers, unsure of why he's even taking Henry's advice and terrified of accidentally making things worse, but he has the feeling this was the right thing to do. Of course, he's never met a girl's parents before, least of all her dad, so he's terrified out of his fucking mind right now, with only Henry (who he knows would run for it in a heartbeat) to back him up. Mostly, he just can't believe that Henry Bowers of all people honestly _apologized_ for what he did.

"'Hi, my name is Ben. I'm the idiot who gave your daughter the postcard. I'm sorry it caused a problem between the two of you, that was not my intention'," Henry whispers quickly, annoyed. "It's quite simple, Tubs -- Fuck. Sorry."

Ben frowns at the insult and then the apology but shakes it off. He sighs as he approaches the apartment door with the golden 5 on it. He sighs as he pushes the doorbell, swallowing thickly as the sound seemingly echoes throughout the hallway. His insides seem to shrivel up inside of himself as he hears heavy footsteps coming towards the door and making a run for it... and then the door opens.

Alvin hadn't expected to hear the doorbell ringing, again, and scowls. He knows it isn't Beverly, because she has a key and wouldn't need to ring the bell, and he doubts she's coming home for a while now. The man figures they both just need time to cool off. He stares with surprise, and then judgment, at the chubby little boy who is currently staring straight back up at him as though he's the scariest thing in the world, who looks ready to piss himself.

"What do you want?" he asks, cold and deadly.

Ben's knees quiver, Henry also debating on running for it (silently wishing he hadn't tried to pluck up the courage to apologize to Beverly today) but the older boy knows her dad will hear his rampant footsteps and would probably end up killing Ben.

 _Better him than me_ , Henry thinks grimly.

Ben swallows down the lump in his throat.

"Hello, sir," he says, with as much politeness as he can muster.

Henry's eyes widen, his jaw falling slack with disbelief, mouth agape as he mouths, silently, of course;

 _What the fuck_?

Alvin stares down at the boy with faint surprise, raising an eyebrow. He's curious, but he's also annoyed.

"What do you want?" he repeats, voicing his unimpressed tone.

Ben trembles, but doesn't break.

"My name is... Ben Hanscom..."

Henry's eyes almost bulge as he forms a gun with his hand and fingers, sticks his index finger into his mouth, and pretends as though he's shooting himself in the head even though nobody besides himself is aware of the fact that he's doing it.

 _Fucking moron_ , he thinks because you just don't tell the father of the girl, the guy you just _pissed off_ , your whole name.

"I... I..." Ben swallows, feeling immensely cold and his stomach is seemingly twisting itself into painful knots, his heart pounding, feeling ready to pop out of his chest or even just explode inside... "I... I was the one who... wrote the haiku... on the... p-postcard..."

Alvin's eyes darken at this revelation and Ben forces down, almost choking on, the frightened whimper that wants to break free. He glares at the little fat boy, Ben Hanscom, an anger unlike any other boiling inside of him.

"That was you?" he asks, low and dangerous.

"Yes... sir..." Ben says, staring at him with impossibly wide eyes, those of a deer caught in headlights, about to get _hit_. He thinks this especially, as he sees Mr. Marsh clenching his hands into fists.

 _He's dead_ , Henry thinks.

Mr. Marsh looms over him, stepping into the hallway, his thudding footsteps almost like thunder, and making Ben back up, but the boy never breaks eye contact. Alvin's fists shake, anger bubbling and boiling inside of his very core at the sight of this tubby little _boy_ who gave **_his_ **_daughter_ a postcard, who wrote her a haiku poem, complimenting her eyes and talking about his _hopeful heart_ , being _more_ than just a _friend_. He glares at the boy, a fire burning in his veins and he wants to punch the little fucker in his chubby little face, but --

He stares down at the boy, who he realizes is alone. Beverly isn't with him. Which means the kid must've seen what happened if he was waiting outside for her, probably to walk her to the circus, and even though he doesn't like the idea of Beverly sneaking around with some boy... the kid, who must've saw how pissed he was, still came up to the apartment and told him that he was the one who wrote the poem...

"Why?"

He's frowning. He's still pissed, but just how many boys, especially one Beverly may or may not have been sneaking around with, would come and admit they were the one who wrote the poem? Why the hell would he even fess up like this?

"Why did I write the poem or why did I tell you about it?" Ben asks, his mouth on autopilot, though his mind doesn't seem to be functioning properly, the boy terrified out of his wits.

"Ohmygod," Henry murmurs before clapping a hand over his mouth, praying to God that Mr. Marsh didn't hear that.

His heart is beating just as frantically as Ben's, though he knows he's less like to get pummeled right now. And he doesn't have to outrun Mr. Marsh, just Ben.

Alvin looks him up and down, his fists unclenching, his anger fading. He's confused, mostly. Either this little fatso had a lot of balls to come and stand his ground like this, or he was actually a decent kid and was genuinely trying to apologize...

"Both," he says, his tone stern.

"I, uhm... wrote the poem because... I wanted to?"

Henry stares at nothing in absolute disbelief as he whispers to himself;

"What the fuck?"

"And..." Ben continues, swallowing thickly, "... I.. I really like her... She's... nice to me. We're friends."

He lowers his eyes as he debates.

He sighs as he reaches into his pocket, figuring that since he was already here, he was going for broke. He was not going to be shamed for his crush on Beverly, just as he was not going to let fear keep him from admitting how he felt. Beverly already knows, and while he's scared shitless of Mr. Marsh, he's certain that the man would have to understand how it feels because he had once been a thirteen year old, too.

He pulls out the wallet his mom bought him for his birthday and bites his lower lip as nerves twist and tie his insides together, pulling out the page of his yearbook that he had ripped out. He unfolds it, taking a moment to stare at her purple signature with two hearts, silently wondering if this was the last time he was going to see it, hold it in his hands, in case Mr. Marsh decided to tear it up, throw it away, or crumple it into a ball. He holds it out to Mr. Marsh, who gives him a dirty and suspicious look before snatching it from him.

Ben doesn't avert his eyes even as Mr. Marsh looks at the yearbook page, the man frowning. He even sighs, recognizing the paper as the same kind for Beverly's yearbook that he'd bought her, though she hadn't wanted one. He didn't understand why at first, and now he does. There are no other signatures on this paper, other than his daughter's. He isn't stupid. He understands that this means this kid, Ben Hanscom, has only gotten one signature from a bunch of kids from school, and it was only his Beverly.

It obviously meant a lot to the kid, such a seemingly small gesture. It obviously meant more that it was Beverly, his little girl, who signed it. He also guesses that the kid must not have many, or clearly any, friends at school. Except Beverly.

"She's the only one who signed it?" he asks, faintly surprised.

"Yeah," Ben says sadly. "Nobody... I just moved here, just before school ended and that's part of why I'm in summer school and... nobody wants to be friends with the fat kid."

Henry grimaces from his hiding spot, his heart twisting inside of his chest at those words. Guilt stings his insides, gnawing at them. Painfully.

"Beverly, on the last day of school, she was the only one to sign it... not a single person even offered and I was too shy to ask..." Ben admits. "... You should hear some of the things people call me... Fatty, Tits..." Henry flinches again, "... Porky, pretty sure the clown called me pork chop, or it might've been about the other kid... Fat Ass, Wide Load, Dough Boy..." his eyes sting and water as he remembers Gretta, "... Fat Boy." He thinks about how Gretta had snidely commented that even she didn't think Beverly would "sink so low" as to do something with _him_. Of course, he wasn't going to mention that part to her dad, lest he reveal the rumors to him. He figured already he would be _lucky_ to get out of this with only a punch in the face, he did not want to _die_. "Before she signed it, nobody else even spoke to me unless it was to call me something hurtful."

He smiles.

"I didn't even ask her to sign it, she just grabbed it out of my bag and did it," he says. "I don't... I don't have a lot of friends."

Or any, for that matter. There were the rest of the Losers, Bill and Richie, Eddie and Stan, Mike and even Georgie, but it just wasn't the same. None of them ever punched another person in the face just because they had called Ben fat. Beverly probably did it for herself, too, but her words had explicitly been; "Don't call him fat!" so Ben would like to think it was more for him, at least in that moment. He still didn't plan on telling that to Mr. Marsh.

"Before her, I didn't have any friends. I... I'm not being a jerk... I... I really like her," Ben admits, his heart feeling heavy in his chest.

"Kid..." Alvin starts, still angry about what happened but surprised at the sincerity coming from this boy... he stares with shock at just how _watery_ the kid's eyes are.

Teary.

"Aw, Jesus," he says, disbelieving.

He isn't the only one, however. Henry also unable to believe it.

"I just... I feel happy when I'm around her... as though it doesn't matter that I'm..." his lower lip quivers, "... big..." he says quietly, sniffling. "I didn't mean to... I mean... I didn't mean to make you angry... I shouldn't have been... secretive about it... I guess... I just... I wanted to go to the circus with her..." he sighs. "It wasn't Beverly's fault, what happened. It was mine. I just... the clown's got a jaguar and I know she wants to see it... I wanted to see if she'd go and see it with me..."

 _Just me_ , Ben thinks but doesn't say. He figures Mr. Marsh gets that part. He didn't miss how her eyes had lit up, like a bright blue sky, when Georgie had mentioned the animal.

Alvin sighs. Guilt pierces him, for getting angry with Beverly and he feels bad for this kid. And he knows;

"Jaguars are her favorite animal..." he says softly, remembering how he had taken her to the zoo when she was a little girl. She didn't want to leave, simply staring at the giant cat with awe and wonder.

Ben nods.

"And yesterday, she was the only one the giant horse would let near him," Ben says, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "I mean, the guy, one of the little men, said that it wasn't tamed. It even tried to throw his head at me. What I mean is, it takes a real kind of special person for an animal like that to let you touch it... for fifteen minutes straight..." he says quietly, thinking that Bill and Georgie and even the clown must be the same way, since the clown had sat right next to the tiger and Bill had been petting him while the clown performed his card tricks, and Vitaly had become playful, almost like an oversized kitten, with Georgie. "I just..." he sniffles. "I'm sorry."

Alvin sighs as he bends down, still holding the yearbook page. He feels bad for what happened, just as he still thinks Beverly shouldn't have been sneaking things. Keeping things from him. He knows he isn't the best dad, far from it, actually, but he still doesn't like the idea of her running off with some boy. Even a good one like this kid clearly is.

"Listen, kid, I appreciate you coming and telling me this but..." he bites his lower lip, thinking. He hasn't been good to Beverly, he knows. He's been more than a bastard to her. Seeing this kid standing here now, he realizes that. "She's my little girl, and finding out that she's hiding some boy from me isn't exactly a fun feeling." Though he knows he overdid it by hitting her. Of course she'd want to hide something like that from him... He knows Beverly isn't running around with all kinds of boys. "It's... it's hard to explain..."

Ben looks up at him.

"Warding off boys is a dad's job," he says. "I get it. Nobody is ever going to be good enough for your daughter."

He lowers his eyes, thinking that there was definitely no way he was ever going to be good enough for Beverly Marsh...

"Hey, come on," Alvin says, staring at him with shock. He's surprised that a kid, who looks only like he's just become a teen, maybe thirteen, knows exactly what he's thinking. "It's not cause you've got rolls. Bevvy's not like that. But... yeah... that's how it feels..." he says, realizing then that this kid is definitely the sweetest one he's ever met. "Look... next time, why don't you just say hello? I'd rather not met my little girl's first..." he grimaces, " _poetry writer_... this way."

He stares at him. He loathes the fact that Beverly's growing up but... it is what it is. And he accepts that. And he'd rather she spend her time with a sweet kid like this one instead of her ending up marrying some abusive asshole in the future...

"No problem," Ben says, meaning it.

He smiles as Mr. Marsh hands him back the yearbook page, undamaged.

"But I'm warning you right now, kid," Mr. Marsh says, his eyes darkening. "You ever do anything without my permission, or force her to do something she doesn't want to, I will hunt you down like a goddamn dog. And if you ever, ever break my little girl's heart, I will not hesitate to kill you."

Ben just nods, his eyes widening with fear again. He can see that Mr. Marsh isn't bluffing.

"Thank you."

Henry just shakes his head and Mr. Marsh scoffs slightly, disbelieving.

"I gotta admit, the last time I saw a boy with her, I wanted to beat him into the dirt," Mr. Marsh says, Henry grimacing, well aware that he was talking about _him_. "Treat her right, Ben Hanscom."

"Yes, sir."

"Good, now get out of here."

Ben smiles as Mr. Marsh goes back into his apartment, the man giving him a thoughtful glance and the barest trace of a smile. He is going to tell Beverly about this, and hopes she understands. His smile widens as he hears the door clicking shut, thudding footsteps departing. He smiles a sunshine smile as his eyes shine, moony like.

"Well, you've certainly got balls," Henry's voice says. "I'll give you that."

Ben turns towards him.

"I'm surprised you stayed," he admits.

He isn't sure if he should tell Beverly about Henry being outside her apartment or not, but then figures being honest is the better option. Then again, Henry might try to deny it and make a liar out of Ben, though he knows Beverly would believe him over Henry...

... she would believe him, wouldn't she?

"Were you really going to apologize?" he can't help but ask.

Henry lowers his eyes.

"Yeah," he says, honest. "Listen, it'd probably be better coming from you... this entire thing... and... not telling her that I was here would probably end up badly for the both of us... so... I'm just gonna go."

"Well, what do I say to her?"

"You're asking _me_?"

 _Fair point_ , Ben can't help but think. Just as he can't help but wonder.

"Do you actually feel sorry or do you really think you're going to get something out of a fake apology?"

Henry actually looks offended as he steps out from behind the wall.

"I don't... I've said a lot of nasty shit but... I've never apologized for a damn thing in my life..." Henry says quietly. His dad would beat the shit out of him if he knew... "So, yeah. I actually feel sorry. I mean, for God's sakes I cut you like a turkey... I acted like a jackass..."

"Yeah," Ben says, staring at him.

He isn't exactly going to forgive him...

... that easily.

"What changed?" he inquires.

Henry frowns.

"I don't know," he says, not entirely truthful but not exactly lying either. "I, uh, I'm just gonna go..."

"Sure..." Ben says, watching him depart. He sees how Henry hangs his head low, clearly miserable. "... see you."

Henry stops, faintly surprised. A faint smile forms even though he knows, for a fact, that Ben is going to keep no secrets from Beverly.

"Yeah..."

Meanwhile...

Beverly is still running. Tears are streaming down her face as she openly sobs.

She isn't sure if it's hatred she's feeling or just her anger and her upset mixing together to try and confuse her. All she can wonder is;

How could he hit her like that? How could he hit her at all? And he had ripped up Ben's postcard... she was beyond grateful he hadn't found the other one... She hates her father for wrecking Ben's postcard when Ben was nothing like what he had clearly thought. Her dress billows behind her as she keeps running, darting into the street without looking. She shrieks, startled, when she's nearly hit by a car, the driver honking angrily as his brakes squeal.

"Watch where you're going you dumb bimbo!"

Something snaps. Almost like a piece of string splitting in two, or perhaps even like her dad ripping the postcard in half... She grits her teeth, her eyes widening with rage, and she screams, open-mouthed and livid, as she rears her foot back and slams her boot into the hood of his car, not leaving a dent but it pisses the driver off more.

"What's your fucking problem?"

"You're my fucking problem!" Beverly screams at him before running away.

She misses how he flips her off as he speeds away. She has only one destination in her mind as she clenches her doll in her hand. Only one person comes to her thoughts, not even Ben, because she _can't_ take being in Derry anymore. She _hates_ it. She hates _everything_ about this horrible, horrible town. She just can't do it anymore.

She barely registers any of her surroundings as she runs down Neibolt street, hardly even noticing the fact that she nearly ran right into Cheryl Lamonica, who was sitting on the steps, clearly waiting for something, or someone, and the girl storms into the house, openly blubbering incoherently as she unintentionally slams the door into the wall. She jumps at the sound of dishes clattering, her eyes widening with sheer horror as she cries out, terrified as her heart stops beating, the sharp sound of dishes clattering and the sharper sound of a knife being pulled making her still.

Wide, terrified blue eyes stare up at a giant cooking knife, which looks like the perfect weapon to commit a murder with, the silver glinting from the sunlight beaming in through the kitchen window in front of the sink. Beverly's terrified eyes meet the crazed hazel eyes of a woman she's never seen before, the woman holding up the knife in a threatening manner.

The woman is older than her, at least in her late forties, though she's clearly aged well, with short, curly blonde hair, which barely brushes past her ears, and those hazel eyes. She's wearing a grayish blue sweater (In the summer? Beverly can't help but wonder) and black jeans, staring right back at Beverly, holding the knife right above her head and clearly planning on stabbing her. Or she would have, if Beverly hadn't been... well, Beverly...

The woman pants when she realizes she's just pulled a knife on a young girl... She lowers the knife, breathing heavily, as she places a hand to her chest, above her racing heart.

"You startled me," she says, gasping and laughing a wheezy laugh. "Oh, good Lord, that's a fine way to give someone a heart attack."

 _ **I** scared **you**?_ Beverly can't help but wonder, her lips pressed together in a thin line, her arms pressed together in front of her chest, her hands in front of her chin, and her thighs pressed together as she stares up at the woman in sheer horror. Yet she cannot help her instincts;

"I'm sorry..." she whispers, terrified out of her wits.

"Oh, now, no reason to be sorry," the woman says, still laughing. "I can't imagine... Goodness, you poor thing..." she says, dropping the knife into the sink while still clutching her chest. Beverly finds it even more terrifying how the woman can go from the perfect image of a deranged serial killer to a sweet older lady. "I'm the one who should be sorry... I truly am... oh..."

She clicks her tongue.

"I'm so sorry, dear... you see, you startled me, running around and slamming the door like that... oh, now," she says, shaking her head patiently at the fact that she can see another apology forming on the girl's lips. "It's quite alright, just... knock next time or simply come in... my... I haven't moved that quickly in quite some time..."

Beverly continues to stare at her, every muscle in her body tense. Slowly, but surely, she relaxes, though she promises herself then and there that she will never, never ever, get on this woman's bad side.

"I'm sorry... but..." Beverly bites her lower lip. "Who're you?"

The woman gives her a smile that Beverly guesses is supposed to be comforting and _maternal_. Beverly wouldn't know, as no older woman, not even her teachers, has ever smiled at her in such a way and she never knew her mother.

"Oh, I'm Pamela, dear," the woman says, still smiling even as she holds onto the sink for support, her heart still pounding. What a sight she must have been, pulling a knife like that... "Pamela Voorhees. And you are?"

Beverly blinks, the name sounding quite familiar. She's never watched horror movies herself, though she's heard of them. She knows about _Friday the 13th_... The woman just chuckles.

"I know, I know," she says. "I didn't pick the name. But, you know, it's only polite to answer an old woman when she asks you a question."

"I'm sorry --" Beverly begins, instinctive, but the woman shakes her head, the barest traces of a frown forming.

"Now, none of that. You don't have to apologize for every little thing. Being polite, and having to be polite, are two entirely different things," Pamela says, offering her a smile again. "Your name, dear?"

"Beverly..." she says quietly, almost whispering. "Beverly Marsh."

Pamela nods, smiling.

"Pretty name for a pretty girl," she says. Beverly supposes she would appreciate the compliment, if she wasn't scared shitless. "My apologies for the knife, dear. You see, I --"

She stops suddenly, taking in the girl's appearance. She frowns at the sight of how disheveled her short ginger hair is, and how red her face is, her cheeks blotchy and tearstained, particularly on one side and her eyes darken, visibly, at the sight of a handprint, and how out of breath she is. She knows then that the girl ran all the way here from wherever she lives and realizes then that this is the girl "Mr. Gray" or the clown, told her about. She sighs, shaking her head. She smiles, warm and motherly. Empathetic.

"Have you had breakfast yet? It's so early, isn't it?" she says, offering her a sweet grin.

Beverly lowers her eyes, flushing as her stomach grumbles. Hungrily.

"No," she admits.

"Well, a girl's got to eat, I say," Pamela says. "What would you like?"

"Huh?" Beverly asks, confused.

"What would you like to eat? I can cook you up a nice breakfast," Pamela offers.

"No, you don't have to --"

"Don't be so polite," Pamela says, not snapping but her tone is stern. She still smiles, however. "While I'm making you a nice breakfast, why don't you have a seat and tell me what had you running about like that?"

Beverly frowns as Pamela pulls a chair out for her. She doesn't sit but the woman is not deterred and instead goes to the fridge.

"A fine kitchen he has, I'll say," Pamela says, smiling pleasantly as she pulls out a package of bacon. "Of course, I can't say I exactly agree with the prices of bacon these days. Or milk for that matter. How do you like your eggs?"

Beverly continues to stare, Pamela looks back at her and just smiles.

"Fried and scrambled eggs it is," she says, pulling out the carton. "I am truly sorry about the knife, Miss Marsh, but understand, in my experience, people are quite dangerous. You could've been anybody else."

"Are you saying you'd pull a knife on anyone?" Beverly can't help but ask.

Pamela offers her a smile, sweet and shining.

"Oh, absolutely," she says, Beverly grimacing, eyes wide, at the revelation, and how happily she says those two words. "See, now, pulling a knife and doing something with it are quite different. I wouldn't harm a child, of course," her eyes flicker, a strangeness enveloping them. Her lips even curve downwards, a sadness overtaking her features. She shakes her head. "Now, what did you say you ran all the way here for?"

 _I didn't_ , Beverly thinks but doesn't say. She knows the woman changed the subject on purpose and can't blame her.

"I... um... I'm looking for Mr. Gray..."

"Oh, the clown," Pamela says jovially. "Such a nice boy. Might I ask what you're looking for him for?"

"It's... personal," Beverly says quietly.

"Ah, yes, alright then," Pamela says, gentle and patient. "You go on now, he's in his trailer, last I saw. You go ahead and talk to him while I make you breakfast. Though, I might need to lie down for a bit," she says, clicking her tongue as she pulls pancake mix out of the cupboard and maple syrup out of the fridge. "My heart can't take much more jumps like that."

Of course, the girl has no idea that Pamela was referring to the night she met "Mr. Gray" and the older woman has no intention of mentioning it again. She was beyond glad she didn't give that horrible, vile book what it wanted... she lowers her eyes.

"Thank you," Beverly whispers, wrapping her arms around herself as she heads for the door that leads to the circus.

"Of course, dear," Pamela says as Beverly walks away, trying her hardest not to run.

She also makes sure not to slam the door behind herself. Her heart is still racing in her chest, feeling ready to explode. She gazes around the circus, frowning when she doesn't see --

Oh.

She stares, seeing it sitting just beyond the aquarium. She ignores the fact that it looks so familiar, even from a distance, but guesses she must've caught a glance of it yesterday, and heads that way, almost running, grateful for the fact that the circus was empty.

She guesses Pamela Voorhees, at least this one, wasn't so bad. Kind of nice, actually. Almost motherly. She couldn't remember a time where someone had made breakfast for her instead of the other way around... Of course, she had no intention of telling Eddie, or anyone for that matter, that she had pulled a knife on her. Not that she can really blame the woman. She had a point.

She completely misses the fact that a pair of golden amber eyes are staring at her curiously, a playful glint flickering in them like the shimmer of the sun.

She runs up to the trailer, faintly surprised to see how old and kind of run down it is. Bits of wood are splintering off from the sides, and on one side in white paint, which is yellowing and chipping away, cracked and aged, are the big, bold words; The Great Pennywise the Dancing Clown. There is even a face of a clown painted on the sides, also aged, old and faded, and it reminds her of the clown, Pennywise or Robert, or Mr. Gray, but not. Rather, the clown painted on the side resembles him, but not really.

The painted clown has a large, rather bulbous head, what looks like spiked up hair, a red ball on his nose, and rather large buck teeth. His lower lip is curved down, revealing his gums and teeth, while his eyes gaze in two different directions.

He resembles Mr. Gray, but not. The only similar things are the face paint and the eyes that look in two different directions, one lazier than the other, and the name. She wonders then if this clown is somehow related to him, but shakes it off. She ignores how familiar this scene is and instead knocks on the door, not pounding it like she might have before meeting Pamela Voorhees...

"Uh, just a second!" she hears a voice calling out -- Robert -- and she sighs with hope and depseration.

Just as deep and rich as yesterday.

"Ow!"

She quirks her lips at the sound of something thudding heavily and what sounds like a monkey chittering.

 _He has monkeys_ , _too_? She wonders, curious.

She jumps, her eyes widening, when she hears something crashing on the inside.

The door suddenly swings open, revealing a disheveled Robert. Her lips part with shock at the sight. His hair is more wild than hers, all over the place, making him look younger than he really is (though Beverly doesn't actually know how old that is) and there's blood staining his white gloves, as though something bit him, numerous times.

"Hi," the clown greets, smiling awkwardly.

"Are you... okay?" she can't help but ask.

"Fine..." he says. That was a lie of course. She had startled him and the Necronomicon -- Of course, it's bites had no affect on him, so he was fine. In a sense. Still hurt, though. He glances at her, frowning at the sight. "What's wrong with you?" he asks, though he already feels a sense of dread, knowing already what happened without even listening to her thoughts, which even he can sense are rampant and incoherent, running faster than her brain could comprehend.

"Nothing," Beverly says quickly, lying through her teeth. "What happened to you?"

 _Changing_ _the_ _subject_ , Robert thinks grimly.

"I got into a fight with a book," he says, smiling as her lips quirk into the barest trace of a smile.

Of course, he couldn't fault the demons for being pissed in knowing that he was sending it back to the Hero From The Sky... and when they realized their bites had no affect on him, they bit harder...

"Can..." Beverly begins, wrapping her arms even more tightly around herself. "Can I talk to you?"

"We are talking," Robert says gently, somewhat confused.

What on earth did she need to talk to _him_ about? He would've thought that Ben would have found her and comforted her... He bites his lower lip, feeling guilty for being the one to suggest Ben write a haiku... he hadn't expected it to turn out that way, though he knew it had happened once before... in another world... although, he supposes that in comparison to her dad finding the other poem... in her drawer...

"Privately?" Beverly asks, her lips quivering as her eyes sting and burn with tears, becoming pink and glassing over.

"Oh, uh... sure..." Robert says quietly, backing away.

He jerks back when she all but storms into the trailer, an upset look on her face.

With the hand holding her doll, she holds the side of her face, her cheek stinging under her touch and she closes her eyes, squeezing them shut, the sound of her dad's hand smacking her face, as though she was something bawdy, some kind of trash -- some kind of skank or slut -- echoing in her head as she forces down her crying so she can ask her question.

"How long is the circus staying in Derry?"

She's genuinely curious. Not just for this reason.

"Huh?" he asks, confused.

"How long is the circus staying in Derry?"

Robert stares at her, bemused. He knows what happened, has seen it through the eyes of another clown before, though in his own original version, when Alvin had found the postcard with Ben's original poem... in his daughter's underwear drawer... that event that had unfolded had been more... brutal. Robert knows that Beverly had broken the toilet lid over his head, because he had watched before grabbing her by the neck and taking her to the sewers... Alvin had been lucky that he hadn't died from that alone... However, Robert also knows that another version of Alvin Marsh had smacked his daughter after catching her with the poem and she had run off before Ben had caught up with her.

"I suppose... I haven't really... thought about it..." he admits. Beverly frowns slightly, a brief flicker of hope and confusion bubbling inside of her thoughts. "... I guess, until the end of August?"

Beverly's breath shudders. She frowns. She knows circuses travel a lot, never staying in one place for too long, but...

"So, about two months... and then what? You're just going to leave?" she asks quickly, scared of the answer.

She doesn't want to see him and the animals go... at least... not without...

"Well... no, not exactly..." Robert says, lowering his eyes as he thinks.

 _I never thought about it_... _I've altered so many things in so many worlds_ , _it wouldn't be surprising if Gan was still pissed at me_... _though I haven't heard anything since the threat on Bill's life_... _all those years ago_... he thinks, not understanding where her question was coming from. Well, he does, but he's surprised that she would come to _him_ instead of Ben or any of the other Losers...

He promised Vitaly and Gia, and all of Circus Zaragoza, as well as the fish, the piranhas and the sharks, and even the Unicorn, that he would find them safe havens. Places to call home without the threat of humans lingering over them. Yet all of them have simply enjoyed the peace of staying in this world, under his protection. He made no such promises to Pamela Voorhees, Charles Lee Ray, and Tiffany Valentine, however.

Pamela had nobody. She had tossed the book away when Robert showed her what her future would be, what would be in store for her son, a never ending curse, an unbroken thing, of bloodshed and carnage. She would never see her little boy again, only an undead corpse with the boy's memories attached, hence his love for his mother and his fear of the water, would rise from his watery grave. She had only asked the clown for a second chance.

Chucky and Tiffany, however... they were only curious as to what lie in store in any other world, the idea of magic existing not particularly surprising to them after the incident in the toy store, though Chucky hadn't actually expected it to work at the time... there were hearts underneath that plastic, the clown knew. One just had a harder time at expressing it while the other only ever wanted Chucky to love her... He hadn't a clue what was going to happen to them, though if need be, he could make good on his dark promise to Chucky. Just as he knew he probably wouldn't.

He hardly knows what is going to happen to himself and her for that matter. And on the off chance Freddy keeps her locked away in the dream world, for all eternity, there was still his existence. He didn't know if he was destined to die in this life, or destined for another fate... All he knows is that these kids need to be protected. All of them.

"Do you travel a lot?" she asks tearfully.

All she wants, more than anything else right now, is to just _leave_. Here and now. Tears stream down her blotchy, red cheeks, one side redder than the other. She can't be in Derry anymore. She hates it here. She feels nothing except sheer, absolute hatred.

She did _nothing_ to Henry Bowers and he spread that horrible, horrible _lie_ about her. And the people in Derry just _believed_ it. Belch and Vic, probably Patrick, too, who spread it all around, and Gretta made sure to make her life _Hell_. She had always been seen as lower than dirt just because her dad worked as the school janitor, but it got worse after third grade, she recalls. After that stupid play she was in... Gretta hadn't been mean to her until after that dumb play, either, she remembers now.

Because of Henry, because of a stupid lie, she became friendless, ostracized by this dirty little town. She had heard Stan and Eddie that day back in the alley when she helped the two of them and Bill steal the supplies from Mr. Keene...

"Nice job bringing up Bowers in front of her," Stan had said.

"Yeah, dude, you heard what she did," Eddie had said.

They had _believed_ it. She didn't know if Bill did, though he said he didn't, at the quarry, and yet Richie did believe them, she was sure, and Ben told her that he hadn't really believed them. Georgie hadn't believed them either... but still...

She presses a hand to her mouth, muffling her sob. She sniffles, forcing it down, as she moves her hand away, her breathshaky.

"No, not really," Robert says quietly. "Zaragoza doesn't travel that much anymore. They're all pretty much retired, I suppose. Mostly Vitaly and the dogs, Sonya, too," he says. Alex would still dance if asked and Gia would join him. Vitaly, Sonya, the dogs, and even the elephants, he could not fault them for not wanting to perform anymore. Not after what they endured. "I mean... why are you asking?"

Beverly swallows the lump in her throat, her chest feeling hollow and cold.

"Do you need more performers?" she asks, not looking at him.

He blinks with surprise.

"I can learn. I'm a fast learner. Anything you need, whenever you need it..." she says quickly. "I just... I just can't be here anymore... this town... it... it sucks the life out of you..." more tears stream down her cheeks, almost gushing like freshly spilled blood. "I can't be here anymore..."

Robert stares at her, sadly. He can see how she _shines_. Not nearly as much as Bill but... He knows, has always known, that the rumors, the lie Henry spread, was never true.

 _Not even close_ , _bud_ , he thinks grimly.

"You would join the circus and leave Derry behind, would you?" he can't help but ask, his voice soft. "What about your friends?"

Beverly sniffles, staring miserably at the wall.

"They don't need me. They believed those rumors anyway. I know they did."

 _Bill never did_. _Ben either_ , Robert knows. Bill never believed them because the rumor started around _Henry Bowers_ , the rumors being about him explicitly, who Bill knew couldn't be trusted. Richie, Stan, and Eddie, on the other hand, did believe it for whatever stupid, childish reason. And then, because of Gretta and the girls, the rumors got _worse_.

Nastier.

Beverly laughs then, watery and her voice cracks, almost breaking.

"I never did thank you," she says, almost whispering.

"For what?" he asks, confused.

"The key," she says, sniffling. She smiles, watery and upset. "The key to Georgie's riddle... well... I guess it's your riddle," she says, grinning a fake grin. "The dolls see everything, the balloons show you the way, but only the key opens the door." She sighs. "Is it your house key or something?"

 _Not exactly_ , Robert thinks, looking away. It was more like the to to the 'Other World' but he had not made an other world. The only elements he took from that Tim Burton film, though he was still unsure of exactly why he did that, unless that was the Other's doing for some weird reason... or it was some twisted joke he didn't understand... were the dolls and using their little button eyes to see. Not that it did him a lot of good where the missing child was concerned, he thinks morosely.

The point was, there was no Other Mother, no Other World. Not in this universe. There was no Beldam who pretended to love the children and lured them in with whatever they wanted, making their unhappy lives better, at a price. There was no Beldam who ate the children she pretended to love after sewing the buttons into their eyes and trapping their souls into a dark room... all the key really unlocked was the basement and the attic where Robert had kept her, hidden, trapped in the form of a button-eyed shadow(she hated the fact that she couldn't change her face from Bill's), before he had contacted Freddy...

"No," he says softly.

 _Unless you count **living** as a prize_, t _hen the answer is yes_ , he thinks. Grimly.

The real reason he gave it to Beverly was because she knew she would keep it safe, out of her reach, like the girl throwing the key and the Beldam's separated hand down the old well to keep her trapped in the Other World. Though, he knows, morbidly, that the Beldam did in fact die without her, starving to death. He would almost pity her, if she didn't enjoy killing the kids, toying with them. Now he supposes there is no use for the key. Although, he supposes, in a dream, it could be beyond useful...

"But..." Beverly begins again, her voice soft and breakable, "I don't care about some circus prize... I... I just want out of Derry... I hate this place..."

Robert stares at her.

"You would throw away your life and join the circus?" Robert asks, knowing what a life she had ahead of her. A fashion designer. And without the abusive husband, she would do well in her life and would actually be happy. Of course, he had been subtly pushing Ben towards her, though he has no idea why Bill walked out of the bathroom with the garbage bag instead of Ben when they helped her clean up the blood -- his blood -- and he knows soul mates when he sees them. Of course, he did kill Rogan's bitch of a mother, while he was at it. "Beverly, you have a whole life ahead of you. You haven't a clue what could be out there... you don't want to throw that away."

Beverly scowls, growing angry.

"What life?" she grits out. "Being the town _slut_ of Derry? I didn't do anything to that son of a bitch and he... he just..."

"I know, Bev," Robert says, his voice soft.

She closes her eyes, screwing them shut.

"I can cook," she says quickly. "I can clean. I can look after the animals if you need me to... I can..." she rambles, her hand shaking as she clutches her dress. "I can sew, like you, and I can learn anything... magic tricks... trapeze... whatever... I can --"

"I don't want those things from you," Robert says, not coldly. "You have such potential ahead of you, you have no idea."

She opens her eyes, frowning. She doesn't understand. It feels as though every wire in her brain has become crossed, the girl unable to comprehend why the clown was rejecting her... Why wouldn't he want a new performer? Someone to cook and clean and take care of the animals? She looks over at him.

"I should still repay you somehow... for the key..." she says, still unsure of what it was for but still happy to have been the one kid, out of every kid in all of Derry, the one girl, to get it. She had even been the one to suggest it to be some big circus prize...

Robert stares at her before lowering his eyes, looking at the floor.

 _I don't need to be thanked_. He thinks. _I just want to protect you and the rest of the kids from the darkness of every world_... _such a pity_ , _isn't it_? _That the man who is supposed to protect you_ , _love you for who you are_ , _is the same man who is trying to make you into your mother_? _How sad that even Freddy Krueger_ , _the spawn of nightmares themselves_ , _an extension of_ _the creepy man Wes Craven saw as a boy_ , _wants to kill your father for that very reason_. He stares at the floor, sadness overtaking his features. _All I want is to talk to you kids some more_. _Get to know you without using your fears against you_. _How I regret what I've done because I know you're all going to suffer for it_...

He doesn't know what to say next...

"Well... Um..."

 _But it would be weird of me to tell you that I simply want to be your friend_... _wouldn't it_? _And you're too good for this world_. _You couldn't live with knowing what would happen to your father_ , _if he dares put his hands on you in this altered realm_... _not right now_ , _at least_... he thinks. He doesn't want repayment. He just wants to see these kids live the happy lives they deserve... to not be ridden with the guilt of what they did to Bill in a time that has already long since passed...

"H-Hold on a minute," he says, trying to think.

He could introduce her to Pamela, to Tiffany... he had considered crafting illusions to make the dolls appear human. Their eyes would most likely give them away, but that was about it.

"Well..."

 _I might scare her anyway_ , he thinks sorrowfully. _What would I say if I wasn't myself in this scenario_? _Then again_ , _she probably wouldn't have run to me_... _probably would have run off, sitting in a random spot_ , _crying about what happened_ , _until Ben caught up with her_...

"Well..." he says quietly, still trying to think of what he's supposed to say.

She sighs, lowering her eyes. She trembles, almost shivering, as a disturbed idea plagues her thoughts. The clown, Robert, is handsome, yes, not exactly cute, like Ben, but... maybe he really does believe the rumors, and lied to Georgie about it, or maybe Georgie misunderstood what the clown had been trying to say... maybe he doesn't want the town slut of Derry to somehow ruin his reputation... or... or maybe --

She swallows as she sets her dress onto his desk, along with her doll. She turns towards him, a coldness welling in her belly that reminds her painfully of her father... reminds her of Bowers when he, Belch, and Vic had cornered her outside of her apartment building... she just wants out of Derry... she feels bad for thinking that, but she can't help it. Ben and maybe Bill, and Georgie, were the only _three_ people out of _everyone_ in Derry, probably the adults, too, who didn't believe the rumors, and Bill was still iffy. She wasn't sure about the clown, but it was hard to say. He had supposedly been somewhere in Derry, since October, according to Georgie, so there was no way he didn't know about them...

She feels bad for thinking this, because Ben and the Losers and Georgie are her friends, the best she's ever had, the only ones she's ever had, but she doesn't want to go back to her father... back to the rumors and the whispers... being cornered in the girl's bathroom and called trash over something she didn't even do...

She loves her father, but her hatred outweighs the love. She knows he resents her, too, blaming her for the death of her mother during her birth... Beverly doesn't even like perfume. It just stinks and it constantly reminds her of the fact that her dad doesn't love her for who she is and wants her to be someone she isn't.

The clown hardly notices what she's doing, too warped up into his own thoughts.

 _But even if I was someone else_ , _I probably wouldn't be able to come up with a good excuse_. _I mean_ , _this town didn't even bother with anything until **after** he attacked her_... _after she broke a toilet lid over his head_ , _cracking his skull_. He shakes his head, pressing both hands against his temples, frustrated.

"I guess you must believe the rumors, too," she says quietly as she undoes the buttons of her blouse. She goes to her belt next, the clown pressing his hands to his mouth, still lost in thought.

 _I can't just say I want to talk_ , _that I want to protect you but you still can't join this circus_ , _not that this is really one_. _Not the circus of Bob Gray_... _I can't just tell you that you have a beautiful future ahead of you after all the darkness_. _You won't believe me no matter what I tell you_. The clown thinks. _And without Tom Rogan growing up to be an asshole because of his mother's abuse_...

"I mean, they're not actually true. But you probably don't believe me. Nobody does," Beverly says quietly. "I mean, I was only ever kissed by one guy, but that was just a stupid play... just... please, don't make me go home..."

He groans, throwing his hands onto his head.

 _And as usual_ , _I'm growing annoyed at myself_. _Billions of years old and I can't even talk to people_ , _children or adults_ , _without somehow terrifying them out of their wits or still coming off as creepy_... _I_ _regret_ **_nothing_** _where_ _Zack_ _is_ _concerned_ , _but_...

"You have two daughters. Are they your daughters? You said they were visiting... they're beautiful, adorable, actually, but you mentioned their mama... you're not married, are you?"

_Huh?_

"Hm..." Robert lowers his hands from his head, confused by the question. He stills, visibly, his eyes widening, wide as saucers, against his will, a frightened green flecking them. Purple, a terrified coloring, dares to break free, but he forces his irises to remain green. "Hm..." he feels a lump forming in his physical form's throat, threatening to choke his true form, almost eerily similar to how Maturin choked himself on a galaxy or two. His pupils contract, almost like a cartoon character as his heartbeat quickens, spiraling out of his control. "Hm..."

She's looking up at him with wide blue eyes, the wires in her head beyond crossed, he can see, her arms dangling by her sides, though he knows she wants to wrap them around herself as to preserve modesty, and maybe even dignity, but that is quite a difficult thing, considering the fact that she's stripped herself down to her underwear.

White panties and a blue bra...

"I can learn, I'm a quick learner," she says, approaching him, her eyes not looking up at him. "I mean... I have no experience but... I can learn..."

He stares down at her, stupefied, bordering _horrified_ , even as she bends her knees, her nose inches from his stomach, and with fumbling fingers, she grabs hold of his belt.

He had made a mistake, he now realizes, in choosing to wear the brown pants with the faded white shirt as well as the overalls. The very same clothes he had chosen when he had taunted her, in that past life, with the haggish, deceased form of Mrs. Kersh and the real Bob Gray, putting on the clown's makeup. Now he was regretting not simply going with the clown suit as he always had...

 _I-Is this some kind of punishmen_ t? He wonders, genuine fear washing over him. _Like_ , _some kind of perverse humor from some higher being_? _Do I need to kill Alvin **now**_?

He jerks back when he feels her hands, which are trembling like leaves in the autumn, about to _fall_ , beginning to undo the button of the pants and pull down the zipper.

"Stop that!" he yells, grabbing the pants and yanking them out of her grasp.

She stares up at him, almost naked, with genuine surprise, unable to believe he was refusing to let her do even _this_... She lowers her eyes when she realizes what she almost did, not really having wanted to go through with it but she was _scared_.

She was scared of her father. Scared of her bullies and those horrible rumors. Scared of losing her friends, namely Ben and Georgie. And now she was even more petrified... because if this got out... her eyes well with more tears, her lips quivering as her nose tingles... she would just be proving those rumors true...

"I'm... I'm so... I'm so sorry..." she whispers.

"F-For what?" Robert asks, pulling the zipper back up, redoing the button, almost zipping his finger in the pants in the process, and fixing his belt.

What the hell does _she_ have to be sorry for?

Shame and embarrassment, humiliation and awkwardness, pool in her insides, making them churn and she feels faint and sick, like she's about to throw up and pass out. In that order.

"Huh?" she gazes up at him, horrified at what she's done but beyond relieved that it didn't actually go that far...

 _Oh my God_ , she thinks, her face burning red with embarrassment as she looks away from the clown. _I jumped to a conclusion_... _**that** one and_... _But_... _still_... _what's going on_? She wonders, pressing a trembling hand to her mouth, missing the clown manifesting a sheet out of thin air. _He stopped me after going this far_? _Is he married or that good of a guy or both_?

It feels like the thorns of a wilted rose are prickling her insides, Beverly feeling as though she was under a microscope and she could imagine countless faces, leering and jeering and sneering at her, pointing and laughing.

Gretta.

Mr. Keene.

Henry.

Her **_father_**.

 _Slut_!

 _Trash_!

 _Whore_!

"You'll catch a cold like that, even if it is summer," Robert's voice shakes her out of her terrified thoughts, the girl jumping as she feels a soft fabric covering her shoulders, and then her back. She stares with shock as she realizes the clown has just covered her in a sheet. "Or bug bites... mosquitos are bitches..." She stares at him, confused. "You should get dressed." He says, heading for the door. "I'll be on my way."

He gives her an awkward smile before turning, visibly jumping when she grabs hold of his hand.

"Don't go!" she begs, using her other hand to cover her body with the sheet, holding it closed. "I'm so sorry! I... I didn't mean... please... please don't... please don't hate me..." she sobs. "Please..."

He grimaces as her tiny hand holds onto his... hers are so much smaller, so much softer, kind of like Bill's, and he flinches when she shivers from the coldness of his touch. Beverly stares up at him through blurry vision. His skin feels like that of a dead animal... cold with death, possibly that of a predator animal but...

"You... you're not like other people..." she whispers, breathless. "... are you?"

He lowers his eyes.

"I'd like to think not," he says quietly. He glances back at her. "You should get dressed. Pamela will make you a nice breakfast..."

"She's scary," Beverly whispers.

"She pulled a knife on you, didn't she?" the clown asks knowingly. Beverly silently nods. "Don't worry, she wouldn't hurt you or any of the kids in this circus..." he says softly as he turns back towards her. _Unless provoked_ , he thinks but doesn't say. The girl is already frightened enough as it is.

"I slammed the door, running here," Beverly admits. "Pamela _Voorhees_?"

"She didn't pick the name," Robert says, which is technically true. "But it wasn't her intention to scare you." He lowers his eyes, well aware of how that statement applies to him as well. He sighs as he bends down, propping his forearm against on knee as he lowers himself down so that his eyes are level with hers. So that he's not looming over her, like her father. Or her potential future husband. "Hey... it's okay, Bev."

"Nothing I just did was okay," Beverly murmurs miserably.

"Perhaps not, but we don't have to talk about it," Robert says gently. She looks up at him, her eyes brimmed with tears. Frightened but _grateful_. "This can just be one of those things we forget about," she nods in agreement. He gives her a thoughtful look. "You know, there's a particularly tubby boy waiting to join you."

She smiles a watery smile at the idea of spending time with Ben, but lowers her eyes. Her eyes harden as she frowns, the clown simply smiling at the sight.

"Don't call him tubby," she says, defensive over it. "He's too sweet... Those just mean there's just more of him to love."

Robert's smile widens.

 _Told you so_ , he thinks.

"You're too good for Derry, you know that?" she asks quietly.

 _No_ , _I'm not_ , he thinks, shaking his head.

He stands back up.

"You should get dressed," he says, heading for the door. "When Ben gets here, the two of you can see Gia together." She gives him a curious look. He smiles. "The jaguar."

Her eyes light up, like fireworks in a dark sky.

"Thank you," she whispers.

He nods as he opens the door, grabbing hold of the doorframe with one hand, his fingers still on the inside of the trailer, as he steps out, the clown giving her an awkward smile.

"You can stay here for as long as you need. Pamela is making breakfast and Tiffany will talk to you if you want," he says, noting her curiosity. "I'll be on my way --"

He shuts the door, unintentionally slamming it (secretly having tried to get away faster) and Beverly jumps and gasps, hearing the clown crying out in pain as he slams the door right on all four of his fingers, just narrowly missing the thumb. She thinks, for a horrifying moment, that he might've _cut_ all of them _off_ but he quickly yanks the door back open and yanks his hand out, his fingers _looking_ as though they were still attached, the girl missing the blazing red of his eyes (though his anger isn't directed at her) before he practically runs away, slamming the door behind himself, and even though the sound is muffled, she can hear him yelling;

"Circus stick together!" and she can hear his rampant footsteps growing faint.

Beverly stares at the trailer door with wide eyes.

 _Off_ _he_ _goes_ , she thinks, in a horrified but mostly confused trance. Her entire face blooms red, the handprint having faded moments ago, not that either of them had noticed, and she wraps the sheet tighter around herself, silently wishing she could disappear into it... _I_ **_strip_** _down_ _to_ _my_ **_underwear_** , _worse_ _than_ _dropping_ _my_ _dress_ _at_ _the_ _quarry_... _I_ **_beg_** _him_ _to_ let me _join_ _his_ _circus_... _and_ _he_ _refuses_... She lowers her eyes. _Now I feel_ _bad_. _Of_ _course_ _he'd_ _want_ _to_ _run_ _off_ after that.

She blinks, her confusion outweighing her horror.

 _Wait_ , _really_? _He'd want to run_? _I mean_... _a big_ , _tall guy like him_? _I come onto him_ , _and he puts a sheet on me and just leaves_? _Even offers me breakfast after that_? _And to let me see his jaguar with Ben_? She stares at the trailer door. She can't help it. She smiles.

"Yes, he's good. I can tell."

**********

Bill is smiling.

He's staring up at his ceiling with that same dopey sort of smile on his face as he feels the creep of consciousness crawling up his spine, his eyelids fluttering open as he awakens, the boy stretching his arms out above his head, groaning slightly, yet still smiling, as he stretches out his legs and even his toes. The remnants of his dream, the memories of it, are forever embedding themselves into his brain, as they linger in the back of his thoughts, pleasantly vivid, even though he knows it's a silly, childish hope.

He bites his lower lip, his cheeks blooming pink, when he realizes he's tangled in his blanket and his sheets, his pajama bottoms pulled down slightly, revealing his hips, and his shirt was riding up his belly, baring his skin. There was a lot of kissing... He looks over to his nightstand, smiling at the sight of Vitaly's hoop, his doll, and his book, though it dims as he glances at the taped up card. He feels a sense of doubt lingering in his belly, hoping beyond all hope that Robert won't be upset about it...

He doubts he will be, and he knows his dad isn't fond of the clown and vice versa. Bill wasn't the one who ripped the card up, and he couldn't have stopped his dad from doing it, lest he get angrier than he already was and do more than smack Bill in the face... he sighs, shaking his head. He feels bad and he guesses Robert either had words with his dad or the other way around, either way... he's going to have to tell him...

His lips quirk, the boy wondering what the next magic trick was, and hoping beyond hope that his dad hadn't ruined it by ripping up the card... He also can't help but wonder what Robert was going to tell him. The best, and cheesiest, thing he's ever heard?

As he wonders what it could be, footsteps echo outside of his bedroom door. Loud and thudding. His dad. He stills when he hears the doorknob rattling, his eyes widening and his breath escaping him as the knob turns and clicks, the door opening.

Hadn't... hadn't he _locked_ it last night? He remembers locking it, he's sure of it. Having scared at it for a good two full minutes before lying in his bed... and he remembers hearing Georgie's bedroom door's lock clicking...

He stares at his dad in mute confusion and horror even as the man walks into his bedroom, a frown on his face. He doesn't miss how his dad's eyes rake over his form, Bill feeling a sense of dread and coldness washing over him.

"Huh-Hi," Bill says awkwardly, almost whispering.

"Hi..." Zack says, almost just as quietly.

Bill swallows, staring at his dad before his lips part with surprise. His dad looks like shit, and that was putting it _lightly_. There are deep bags under his eyes, his skin paler than death, and he looks like he hasn't slept at all. Bill isn't wrong in that assumption, though it wasn't that Zack couldn't sleep, but rather he couldn't _wake up_. He had nightmares all night, dreaming of a void like light and piping music that reminded him of a haunted circus, imaginging red balloons and two giggling babies, both dressed like clowns, both little girls, chasing after him and some guy that he was ninety percent sure was Freddy Krueger.

Zack stares at his son, his eyes darkening at the sight of the unkempt bed. He closes his eyes, his hand clenching into a fist around the item in his hand. He sighs, heavily, as he approaches Bill, shutting the door behind him. He opens his eyes again, staring at Bill with an unreadable, but definitely _dark_ , expression.

"Do you know what I miss the most, Bill?" Zack asks quietly as Bill feels that dread starting to grow, prickling his insides like poisonous thorns.

"Nuh-No," Bill says quietly, almost whispering, too afraid to sit up or even move.

"The piano," Zack says, his voice soft as he sits on the edge of Bill's bed, creating a dip in it. Bill trembles, his throat feeling dry with fear.

Yet Bill frowns.

He's taken up all of his mom's chores, the things she used to do before she left. The cooking and the cleaning, taking care of Georgie, and being home on time... Surely his dad doesn't expect him to start playing the piano? He's always been more of a listener... But he knows it's mostly been gathering dust since October, Bill making sure to dust it when his dad wasn't home, lest he yell at him for that, too.

At the same time, Bill misses it, too. He misses waking up to the sun shining down on his face, or even hearing the patter of rain against his window, or even feeling the breeze drifting by because he had left his window open the previous night, and hearing his mom playing something downstairs. Most often, she liked to play Beethoven. _Fur Elise_ was always her favorite. And Bill misses all those times from when he was younger, sitting on her lap and watching her play, her fingers moving gracefully over the keys.

He jumps, almost whimpering, but he forces it down, almost choking on it, when his dad puts his hand on his face. It feels warm, the thumb brushing over his cheek, but every inch of his body feels _cold_. It's the same cheek his dad smacked him in. His dad stares down at him, that same dark expression on his face, staining his eyes.

"You know why I did it, don't you, Bill?" his dad asks him, almost whispering, as he looks down at Bill with a strange look in his eyes, his thumb brushing along the corner of Bill's lips. His eyes darken, visibly, at the sight of them quivering.

Bill has yet to notice the item in his dad's hand, one he'll remember, all too well...

"Yuh-Yes," Bill whispers, terrified.

His heart is pounding, his legs feeling like lead. his belly a bundle of nervous knots. He doesn't want to get hit again...

"I don't know what you like so much about that guy, Bill," Zack says, bluntly. "I don't know what is is, but he's fucking creepy."

Bill stares up at him, eyes glassy with unshed tears.

"Huh-He's ruh-really nuh-nice, duh-dad," Bill says, forcing himself to swallow even though his mouth feel as though it's full of cotton. "Huh-He's a guh-good guh-guy."

"Sure," Zack says, disbelieving.

Zack flinches at the memory of the clown -- Penny _wise_ , not Penny _winkle_ , though Bill had called him _Robert_ \-- and he remembers how the clown had frightened him. Of course, that was a nicer term for scared him to the point that he pissed himself. He can't quite recall how or why exactly but all he knows is that there is something about the guy that scares him shitless. And yet all he can remember is that the clown promised him he wouldn't come back to his house...

Of course, he fails to realize that the promise had a loophole in it.

His eyes drift over to Bill's nightstand, his hand not moving from his son's face, the man scoffing at the sight of a single ring, which looks to be made of pure silver and big enough to fit a pinky finger, as well as Bill's doll that matches himself, another think Zack finds exceptionally creepy, borderline stalker, about this whole circus.

He has seen almost all of the kids in Derry running around with them, everything except the black button eyes matching their respective kid.

He raises an eyebrow at the sight of a mangled up book that looks like a dog chewed it up and Freddy Krueger -- the name making him flinch -- slashed it, and the card. His eyes harden when he sees that Bill has taped it back together, sloppily but good enough.

The palm of his hand rests on Bill's cheek, the same one he slapped him on. He's told Bill about strangers, Georgie too, told them never to talk to them, and to certainly not accept things from them. Circus prizes or not. And he doesn't understand what the hell was going on Bill's head when he let that guy walk him home, whether or not there was some fight -- since when was Bill getting into fights, anyway? Whether or not Bowers started it? -- as well as _Beverly Marsh_ , and then to invite him into their _house_? To let him sit at their _dinner table_? In _Zack's_ chair?

He stares down at his son, who is looking up at him with a terrified expression. Zack doesn't know what he's crying about, since he hasn't hit him a second time. _Yet_. His fingers dig into the hair on Bill's temple, the boy whimpering even as he tries to force down his tears despite the fact that his dad's thumb is running along his lower lip. The boy has no idea how much he reminds Zack of Sharon, though his hair is more auburn than ginger, and their eyes aren't the same color, but he reminds him of her, so much.

"Are you going to the circus today?" Zack asks softly.

Bill stares up at him, confused by the question.

"I mean, you have his stupid card, so I imagine so," he says, scoffing at the idea of it. "You going or what?"

"Yuh-Yes?" Bill whispers, unsure.

He stares down at Bill, looming over him.

"Tell me about him," he says softly, lowering himself down so that his back is arched, pressing the tip of his nose and his lips against the top of Bill's head, against his hair.

Bill trembles, his legs feeling as though needles were prickling him, as his dad _inhales_. Audibly. He goes for playing stupid.

"Huh-Who?" he whispers, soft and frightened.

Zack scowls.

"Don't act stupid," he snaps, still holding Bill's face with one hand. "Your precious clown. _Robert_."

Bill shakes as he closes his eyes, unable to stop his tears from falling and then streaming. They slide down his temples, wetting his hair, dropping onto his pillow.

"Huh-He's a nuh-nice guh-guy, duh-dad." Bill says quietly, his stutter worsening.

"Nice enough to just _give away_ tickets to his circus?" Zack asks, _refusing_ to believe that was the case.

He has a perverted idea as to how Miss Beverly Marsh could have gotten herself a doll, and he's heard the nasty rumors circling her and the clown. Just as he's heard about the fact that out of everyone in Derry, even over Bill and Georgie, _she's_ the one who got some kind of special key. Some big prize or the guy's _house_ key? Out of everyone in Derry, she's the one who got it? With _her_ reputation? And it was all _free_? Don't make him _laugh_.

"Yuh-Yes," Bill murmurs. "E-Every-wuh-one's guh-gotten their tuh-tickets fuh-for f-fuh-free. Muh-Mine wuh-was in the sh-shuh-shopping cuh-cart... Eddie fuh-found Ruh-Richie's at the arcade... Ruh-Ruh-Robert guh-gave Eddie and Guh-Georgie theirs... Buh-Ben fuh-found Buh-Beverly's in Muh-Mr. Kuh-Keene's f-fuh-pharmacy... and Muh-Mike got his, tuh-too..."

"Why?" Zack asks, only recognizing five of those names. He doesn't know any kids named Mike or Ben.

"I don't know," Bill whispers.

"I find it hard to believe that the guy just lets a bunch of kids into his circus for free, Bill," Zack says simply. "Anyone will agree with me."

Bill is silent, tears still flowing like twin rivers.

"Tell me about it," Zack says softly, his eyes glazing over. "The circus."

He doesn't want to. He wants to keep it a secret. He doesn't want his dad to find more ways to ruin it for him. Ruin it for Georgie and his friends. However, his fear loosens his otngue.

"There's luh-lots of anim-muh-mals... a tuh-tiger, huh-his nuh-name's Vuh-Vitaly... and huh-horses... shuh-sheep and I suh-saw a p-puh-piglet... and huh-he says there's a j-juh-jaguar and a buh-bear... el-luh-lephants and duh-dogs and a luh-lion..."

"Any fun games?"

"P-Puh-Popping the buh-buh-balloons fuh-for p-pruh-prizes," Bill admits, his stutter worsening as his heart rate quickens. It's pounding like a fist against a door, beating like a rapid drum. "I owe huh-him a guh-game..."

Zack's frown deepens.

"For what?"

"Guh-Georgie's tuh-turtle... huh-he luh-let muh-me tuh-take it yuh-yesterday... and suh-said I owe huh-him a guh-game..."

"Oh..."

Bill tenses, eyes widening, almost popping out of his skull, when his dad lifts him up, holding him close. He holds the back of Bill's head with his hand, almost cupping it, and presses Bill's cheek against his chest. He shudders, open-mouthed and unable to even utter a squeak of confusion and fear, when he feels his dad's hand sliding down his back, almost as though he was petting him. He feels confused and so _cold_. They're both sitting on the bed, Zack's nose still buried in Bill's hair, lips pressed against his head.

"Who's Mike and Ben?"

"Muh-My fuh-friends..." Bill says, trying to steady his breathing but that's a difficult task since air doesn't seem to want to come to him. "... wuh-we muh-met Buh-Ben in the Buh-Barrens... huh-he guh-got huh-hurt... and wuh-we muh-met Muh-Mike there, tuh-too."

"How'd the kid get hurt? And why the Barrens?"

"Buh-Bowers..." Bill admits. "Buh-Both tuh-times... he huh-hurt Buh-Ben and wuh-was buh-beating on Muh-Mike..."

"Sounds like hanging around Beverly Marsh is going to get you into trouble, Bill," Zack says, almost paternally.

 ** _Almost_**.

"It's nuh-not luh-like that, duh-dad," Bill says quietly, wondering why the hell his dad was bringing i tup again. He feels disturbed, his face contorting into a grimace, when he considers the possibility that maybe his dad was also stupid enough to believe those dumb rumors about her, about Bowers, and about Robert. Or maybe his dad was just using it as an excuse to be an asshole to him. "Buh-Bowers juh-just muh-made that stuh-stupid luh-lie up tuh-to muh-make himself luh-look cool."

"Mm..."

Silence.

Laced with tension. Like a beverage filled with poison.

Bill is beyond uncomfortable, his skin feeling as though it was crawling along his bones, like thousands of bugs chewing away at his flesh. His blood felt as though it had become ice, freezing over in his veins. Stilling his heart.

"Don't get to close to him, Bill," Zack says quietly. "Circuses travel a lot. I don't think he'll be around forever."

Those words are like a sock to the gut, a punch in the face. The air leaves Bill and he lowers his eyes at the thought, not liking the idea of it. The rational part of him would say that it was just his dad's way of gauging his reaction, to get a rise out of him and to hurt his feelings, that makes sense, but the irrational part of him feels a genuine rush of fear at the fact that there was genuinely a strong possibility of Robert leaving Derry.

Leaving...

... him.

"Buh-But huh-he _buh-bought_ Nuh-Neibolt," Bill whispers, trying not to start crying into his dad's chest. He doesn't want to give his dad what he wants. "Wuh-Why wuh-would huh-he luh-leave? It c-couldn't huh-have buh-been ch-cheap to fuh-fix..."

"I've seen it before," Zack says, somewhat truthful. He's seen circuses come and go, as a boy, just as he's seen people buy a crappy house, fix it up, and sell it for a higher price than what they paid for it. "He might've just fixed it up for somebody, maybe even got paid to do it while his circus came to visit. Might just be staying there temporarily. It wouldn't surprise me. And even if he bought it himself, there's still the chance he would probably just sell it for a higher price. You and I both now Neibolt was a piece of shit."

 _But it's beautiful now_ , Bill thinks desperately, _like a real **home**_.

Zack scowls, not liking the fact that he can hear in Bill's voice how _upset_ he is by the idea of the clown leaving Derry.

"Don't get too attached to him, Bill. And I expect you to be home on time."

"I knuh-know, duh-dad," Bill say softly, scowling tearfully at the fact that he had left the circus at 4:00 just for that reason.

He tries not to openly cry when his dad lets him go, but still holds the back of his head with one hand. His dad offers him a smile, but it is anything but comforting. The smile isn't meant to be sinister, but it is dark. Dark in a way that makes Bill squirm with discomfort.

"I've got something for you," Zack says, running his fingers through Bill's hair.

 _I don't want it_ , is Bill's first and foremost thought.

"I want you to put it on after you take your shower," his dad says, either oblivious to his unease or he doesn't give a shit.

Bill would assume both.

"Wuh-What is it?" Bill whispers, not really wanting to know and hoping it was just a shirt...

His stomach plummets as he recognizes the item in his dad's hand, the little bottle full of liquid somehow greatly resembling _poison_. His eyes widen, his lips parting, disbelief written all over his features. And then, he's _angry_.

"Yuh-You can't buh-be suh-serious," Bill grits out, his eyes burning with tears.

He recognizes the bottle as his _mom's_ favorite brand...

... of _perfume_.

His dad's eyes harden, his dark smile disappearing, dying like a light bulb.

"I mean it, Bill," he says darkly.

"It's p-p-puh-perf-fuh--" Bill's face reddens with shame and embarrassment, anger and humiliation.

"I know what it is," Zack says darkly, ignoring the fact that the crueler side of him wants to start stuttering himself, mockingly. "Look at it this way, Bill," he says, gripping Bill's hair with his fist, silently relishing in the pained whimper that passes Bill's lips. "You can either put it on yourself after your shower. Or I can put it on you. Before or after you take a shower, I don't care." His eyes darken, the barest traces of a nasty scowl forming on his lips. Bill trembles, the anger dying and being replaced with _terror_. "It's really up to you."

Bill can't stop the tears and he cries out, pain flaring up in his scalp and seemingly burrowing deep into his skull, when his dad yanks his head back, pain racing up the back of his neck and his dad forces him back onto the bed, onto his back, forcing the back of his head against his pillow, Bill openly sobbing and screaming into the palm of his dad's hand when it clamps over his mouth, muffling his pleas.

His face was burning, shame and humiliation contaminating his body and his thoughts like a disease, slithering through his veins like the most poisonous of serpents, crawling on and under his skin like the most rotten of insects. The kind that liked to eat _dead flesh_.

"Be quiet, Bill," his dad hisses at him even as Bill beats his fists against his dad's chest, kicking at him even as his dad forces himself on top of him, Zack forcing Bill's knees apart with his thighs. Bill's toes curl into the sheets, underneath his dad's weight, which feels as though it's _crushing_ him, the boy is _trapped_. "You don't want to wake Georgie up, do you?"

Bill stills, an ice cold feeling erupting like a volcano, deep inside of his core. He pants through his nose, staring up at his dad with horror. His pupils are mere pinpricks in his irises, his eyes almost bulging out of his head as his heart pounds, his chest heaving. He _wouldn't_ \--

"Either you put the perfume on yourself," Zack growls at him, teeth bared. "Or I put it on you. And trust me when I say you won't like option number _three_."

Bill stares up at him, terrified.

 _He **would**_ , Bill thinks horrified at the dark revelation.

"I won't leave the house until I know you've put it on either, Bill," Zack promises him. Bill flinches, almost dropping the bottle, when his dad slips it into his hand. It feels like he's holding a ball of ice between his fingers. "Now, go."

Bill openly sobs, pressing his own hand to his mouth to muffle the sound, as his fingers clench around the bottle of perfume, his dad watching, smugly, as he leaves the room. Hot tears slide against his fingers but he can't stop crying.

He is a _boy_. A boy would spray on _cologne_. Not _perfume_. Well, Bill didn't care, either way, but the fact that his _dad_ was _forcing_ him to wear his _mom's_ favorite _perfume_... He felt sick, his stomach clenching and churning, the boy feeling as though he was going to puke and pass out... The horror at knowing his dad was doing this to him, that his dad had used his weight and size advantage against him -- his own son --

\-- Bill openly sobs, his cheeks bulging like a chipmunk's or a squirrel's, and can't stop himself from spewing last night's dinner into his palm, his chest heaving, spraying all over his fingers and narrowly avoiding his sheets and instead puking on the floor. And even then he can't stop crying.

He --

\-- He --

\-- Bill sits down at the kitchen table, staring blankly at his own plate which is void of food except for two pieces of sausage, and he doesn't think he can eat even that. Georgie smiles at him and he offers him a smile back, and his dad is staring at him thoughtfully, a dark question in his eyes. Bill lowers his own, Georgie frowning at the action and looking between the two of them. His dad sniffs, intentionally, and Bill flinches at the smirk that crosses his dad's lips as the man smugly takes a bite of sausage.

Bill hadn't had it in him, not after that, to even make Georgie pancakes.

"Any plans for the circus, today, Georgie?" Zack asks through a mouthful of sausage, purposefully scraping his fork along his plate, watching Bill jump and flinch from the sound.

Georgie shrugs through his own mouthful of eggs.

"Can we see the dogs, Bill?" he asks.

"Duh-Don't tuh-talk wuh-with your muh-mouth fuh-full," Bill says, unaware of how his dad's eyes darken at those words. "But... yuh-yeah..."

Georgie smiles and opens his mouth, bits of scrambled egg dangling between his teeth, when he suddenly smells something. It's familiar, that smell, a sweet, floral scent, but...

"Is mom back?" he asks, looking at the door as though expecting her to come in, arms extended out for a hug.

Bill closes his eyes, screwing them shut, knowing his dad was still smirking.

"What makes you say that?" Zack asks, Bill able to _hear_ the _smugness_ in his voice.

Georgie frowns.

"I..." he thought he... He still smells it but... he glances at Bill, who is pointedly looking away and not eating anything. "Never mind..."

Zack just smiles, a wicked, vile thing. His eyes glint with a dark delight. Bill has no idea that soon enough, they will be plucked from his skull and popped between razor sharp teeth like little hard candies, before being promptly spat right back out.

"Do you want to see Vitaly again, Bill?" Georgie asks.

Bill's lips twitch into a smile.

"Suh-Sure," he says. "Guh-Go guh-get our duh-dolls, wuh-will you?"

Georgie looks between Bill and their father as though he doesn't actually want to, because if he does, something bad that he doesn't fully understand, that something Bill won't explain to him, probably because he's too young to understand, will happen to Bill.

"Sure..." Georgie says, pushing himself away from the table, feeling a sense of dread lingering in the pit of his belly. It feels similar to October, before Pennywise had let go of him, giving him his doll and his red balloon, a sense of something bad about to happen, a lingering feeling of foreboding, but if Bill doesn't want to talk about it, Georgie isn't going to push him.

Bill's eyes burn like liquid fire as he grabs Georgie's plate and his dad's, not looking at the man as he pushes them into the sink.

"You didn't eat, Bill," Zack says softly.

"Wuh-Wasn't huh-hungry," Bill says scornfully as he washes the dishes.

He grits his teeth, tensing, when he hears his dad's chair scraping along the floor, the bastard purposefully drawing the sound out because he knows what it's doing.

Bill can't hold back his tearful whimper as he feels his dad's hands on his shoulders, strong and dangerous, not at all comforting and protective like Robert's hands were, and he jerks away when he feels his dad's lips against his hair again, the man breathing in deep and sighing heavily.

"Enjoy the circus, Bill," Zack says quietly, grinning a nasty grin before he leaves for work.

Two red balloons follow after the car as it leaves. Georgie and Roberta's giggling voices can be heard echoing from the kitchen sink, though Bill is oblivious to the sounds. He sniffles, his eyes stinging as he tries not to vomit from the smell. He used to love smelling it, as a little kid, when his mom would hold him or even when she would patch him up after a run-in with Bowers and his goons. Or both.

Sweet and flowery.

Now it only smells sour and putrid.

Almost like a plant that _died_.

Yet retained its poisonous essence...

He sighs as he finishes up the dishes, forcing down the sausages so that he isn't running on an empty stomach. He decides then that he and Georgie are going to walk to Neibolt rather than ride Silver, an almost sorrowful attempt to make the smell of the perfume go away quicker. Bill knows it'll be a fruitless attempt, but he has to try.

"You okay, Bill?" Georgie asks quietly as he holds Bill's hand, his doll in the other hand.

Bill is holding his own doll as well as the card. He sniffles even as he gives Georgie a watery smile.

"Yuh-Yeah," Bill says, nodding.

 _You're lying_ , Georgie thinks sadly. He knows his dad is being mean to Bill again, and he knows it's getting worse. Does it make Bill feel better by lying to Georgie? Does it lessen his guilt somehow? But what does Bill have to feel guilty about?

Georgie frowns as he thinks of October.

 _You weren't really sick that day_ , _were you_ , _Bill_? He wonders but doesn't say.

He knows there are things Bill doesn't like to talk about and he knows his brother will clam up or make up a lie to get out of answering his questions. Just like he did when he faked that cough back in October and lied about the vomit.

"Do you think the lion will dance?" Georgie asks. "Or Pennywise will show us more tricks?"

"I duh-dunno, Guh-Georgie," Bill says, smiling at the idea.

He feels those fluttering butterflies in his belly again instead of that horrible sickly feeling when he thinks about Robert, though he still dreads the fact that he's going to have to tell him what happened tot eh card. He can't say he forgot it forever.

Bill can't help but smile, the fluttering of the butterfly wings growing quicker in tempo, at the sight of the pink painted bricks and the black roof. He, and Georgie, both can't help but stare curiously when they see a girl, Cheryl Lamonica, Bill's thoughts tell him, sitting alone on the porch, a frown on her face as she looks around desperately. When she spots them, her eyes light up as though she had been expecting _them_ , but then she frowns when she realizes it's Bill and Georgie Denbrough instead of... the person she's waiting for.

Bill isn't going to be rude, so as he walks up to the porch with Georgie, he says that one simple word;

"Huh-Hello," he greets her, though he doesn't think he's ever actually spoken to her before until today.

"Hi," Cheryl says quietly, lowering her eyes, disappointment clear as day in them.

Bill spots the empty plate and the fork next to her. She catches his staring, her cheeks darkening slightly.

"Oh, the woman, nice lady, Pamela, made me breakfast," she says awkwardly, almost shyly. She purposefully avoids admitting that her parents forgot to make her breakfast. Again. "I've, uh, I've been sitting here a while."

"Wuh-Why?" Bill asks, curious.

"Waiting," Cheryl says quietly, looking down again even though she knows Bill Denbrough wouldn't judge her.

"For what?" Georgie asks, also curious.

Cheryl's lower lip quivers.

"Esther."

"Oh."

Bill's heard of her, too. He's seen he rin the hallways at school, but he's never really interacted with her either. Esther Sinclair. He remembers seeing Esther and Cheryl, as well as another girl, Veronica Grogan, one of the missing kids, he recalls, on Halloween night, all three dressed as fairies and princesses. Bill remembers that Halloween especially, because that was the one where Georgie insisted he and Bill dress as clowns for Halloween. Also, because that was the last time anyone had seen Veronica...

"Huh-How luh-long huh-have you buh-been wuh-waiting?" he can't help but ask, mostly curious.

"A while," Cheryl admits. "She promised we'd go in together..." she smiles, awkward. "Guess she's late."

Bill frowns at this news. Georgie takes a seat next to her and while Cheryl smiles, her eyes go down again. Sad and lonely.

"I miss Veronica," she says quietly. "I mean, she and Esther always seemed to know something I didn't... but... that could've been us... on a poster..." She sighs, frowning. "That bus was scary. I mean, it was cool and all, how it was actually like being in a _Nightmare on Elm Street_ film, but did it have to be _that_ one? But... I actually thought..." she bites her lip. "I mean, other than the fact that I'm 60% sure that guy was the real Freddy Krueger... I saw... I thought I saw --" she swallows, shaking her head. "Never mind."

"Wuh-What?" Bill asks, sitting on her other side.

And although she smiles at him, he recognizes the look in her eyes. A frightened thing, a fake smile on the top, like a cherry to a sundae. A poisoned one. He's seen that look on his own face, numerous times. Including this morning.

"Wuh-What'd you suh-see?"

Her frown deepens.

"You'll just think I'm crazy or being stupid," she says quietly.

"Nuh-No, I wuh-won't," Bill says, his thoughts drifting back to the things he's been seeing. In his nightmares, and in his real life.

Patrick... a thing he's sure was just a really gruesome nightmare. He hopes, anyway. The button-eyed shadow, another thing he guesses was a disturbed nightmare he conjured up because of the circus and the button-eyed dolls. And at times, he found himself jumping at his own shadow... often because of his dad... and the blood in Beverly's bathroom...

Only two out of three of those things he can write off as nightmares. Eddie, Beverly, Ben, and Stan could all attest to the fact that the blood was not a bad dream. Although he supposes the only "logical" or delusional explanation was that it was plumbing gone horribly, horribly, _horribly_ wrong. Or some kind of particularly nasty prank.

"Well, I thought I saw a..." Cheryl begins, her eyes glazing over before she closes them, shaking her head. "I mean, it's stupid, because it's all just smoke and mirrors anyway.." she says, still frowning.

She doesn't want Bill to think that she's crazy if she mentions a button-eyed shadow... it's bad enough she's been having nightmares about finding her own rotting corpse deep in the sewers of Derry... bits and pieces of her body missing, as though she had been attacked by an animal... or some kind of monster... her body decorated with bite marks, large chunks of her flesh torn from her bones... lying in a pool of her own blood... her eyes glazed over with the paleness of death... She grimaces. Esther always made her feel better, Veronica, too, but... Veronica was missing and Esther was... late.

"I just... I wish Esther would get here already... she promised she had something to tell me today."

"Wuh-What?" Bill asks.

Cheryl just smiles. Esther was always so secretive. Veronica, not so much.

"If I knew, she wouldn't have to tell me today," she says.

Bill's cheeks grow warm and she openly laughs.

"Wuh-Well," Bill says, shrugging it off. "It's nuh-not fuh-fun sitting out huh-here buh-by yuh-yours-self. I'm suh-sure she wuh-wouldn't muh-mind you guh-going in."

"I guess not," Cheryl says quietly. "I just wanted to see the lion dance with her. She _promised_ she would tell me something."

"I'm sure she's just late," Georgie says, smiling at her. "If she had something important to tell you, she'd tell you. Even if it came in a way you wouldn't expect."

"Yeah, I guess so," Cheryl says, smiling at him. She looks back at Bill. "Thanks for bothering, I guess. Beverly Marsh ran past me a while ago."

"Wuh-Why?" Bill asks, frowning.

"I dunno, but she looked really messed up," Cheryl says, shrugging. "I'm going in, I suppose."

"Do you want to see the dogs with me? And when Esther gets here, we can all see the lion together," Georgie asks excitedly, almost jumping up as Cheryl stands, taking the plate with her.

She just smiles and nods as she walks into the house with him, Georgie rambling on about the animals. Bill lowers his eyes, staying seated, knowing that as long as his little brother was in Robert's circus, he was safe from Connor, Belch, and Vic. He sighs, silently wondering why Esther hadn't shown up yet and somewhat wondering what she wanted to tell Cheryl. He shakes his head, that's not his business. He does, however, briefly recall seeing Robert go and talk to her yesterday, and he shrugs it off.

 _She'll turn up_ , he thinks as he follows Georgie and Cheryl into the house. He can see the two of them leaving out the back and he's about to follow them, but then he freezes in his tracks, shock and wonder making him still, when he hears something...

Something he hasn't heard in a pretty long time...

Music.

From a piano.

He looks into the living room and sees the first grand piano, made of expensive mahogany, but he doesn't see anyone on the bench. He recalls the second piano upstairs as he looks up at the ceiling, realizing the sound was indeed coming from up there, and he quirks his lips curiously as he grins a childish grin. He can't help but wonder...

Georgie is safe in the circus, Bill knows. With or without Cheryl, and despite what happened with Henry back at the stream after the rock fight, Bill knows that Georgie knows better than to talk to Vic, Belch, or Connor. He can't help but make his way up the stairs instead of heading outside, recalling how he had done this just yesterday, only he didn't feel light and feathery today, as though he as having an out-of-body experience.

He felt quite like himself, only more fluttery and pleasant. As though butterflies were tickling his insides. He smiles as he recognizes the first few notes of the first movement of _Sonata quasi una fantasia_ , more commonly known as _Moonlight Sonata_. He recognizes it, because it's something his mom used to play. She always loved _Fur Elise_ more, preferring Beethoven over Mozart, but Beethoven's music had -- _has_ \-- a special place in her heart.

Bill's heart, too.

He ascends up the stairs, the very same as yesterday, only he's running his fingertips along the cool mahogany railing and along the mother's milk colored wall, a disbelieving smile on his face. He comes to the top of the stairs, ignoring the next set of stairs behind him that leads farther up into the house, most likely to an attic if there is one. He glances at the photographs lining the walls, including the older one of the man and the little girl.

His lips quirk when he realizes that the man in front of the wooden trailer, even in his tailored suit, greatly resembles Robert, with only a few slightly facial differences... the photograph hasn't changed, the same words painted on the trailer, "The Great Pennywise the Dancing Clown" and Bill cannot help but wonder... was Pennywise simply a name that was passed down in the circus? Generation to generation? When one clown retired, another would take over? Like a father passing down an heirloom to his son? Because it seemed like the man in the photograph could be Robert's father, or maybe, given how old the photograph looks, his _grand_ father.

He smiles as he sees that open area with that second grand piano, also made of expensive mahogany, that same rocking chair, though Bill doesn't see any of the toys, the plush ones or the Good Guy Doll or even the giant clown from the other day, and he simply assumes their in the toy chest. He sees the same shelves full of plush animals and he sees that same music box that he now realizes is the very same one from _Labyrinth_ , the one Sarah had, as well as the plush toys of the creatures from the labyrinth that she encountered, and his smile widens, sweet and childish, when he sees Robert.

His gloved fingers are like spiders, Bill thinks. Large white ones moving gracefully along the ivory and ebony keys of the piano. The clown's eyes are closed, the man not even watching his hands as he plays. Bill can't help but keep smiling, a delighted, almost childish thing, as he watches. He knows the first moment has been considered a "lamentation" but there was without a doubt an indescribable beauty to it. The first movement, _Adagio sostenuto_ , was the one his mom would always play for _him_ when he was younger, even before Georgie was born...

He stands there, watching with awe and wonder, as the clown continues, as though he isn't aware of Bill's presence...

"Staring is considered quite rude, you know," Robert says, his voice soft but pleasant, as though he's amused.

Yet not even for a second does he stop playing, perfectly.

Bill's cheeks bloom red, a definite heat creeping up them.

"Suh-Sorry..." he says quietly, not really meaning it. There's no way he'd be sorry for something as wonderful as _this_. "It's just... I huh-heard..."

Robert opens his eyes to stare right back at Bill, the boy noticing they are that beautiful starlight blue again, the same as Bill's dreams, though he sees no glints of pure silver or otherworldly orange. The clown tilts his head, catlike and curious, as he continues to play, Bill smiling at the lovely sound.

"I didn't puh-peg you fuh-for a p-puh-piano, guh-guy," Bill says, unable to stop smiling.

"I'm just full of mysteries," Robert says pleasantly.

Bill stares at him, still smiling, open-mouthed. Oh, how he wishes _he_ could solve Robert's mysteries... His face feels even more hot at that thought, but he doesn't care.

"You can sit down, you know," Robert says, his eyes and his voice soft and sweet.

Bill's lips twitch, his eyes watering, but not in a bad, unpleasant way. These are tears of _joy_. He lowers his eyes as he bites his lower lip, Robert lifting an eyebrow as Bill approaches the piano, and him, rather than the rocking chair.

The clown chuckles softly as Bill sits next to him on the bench.

"Buh-Beethoven," Bill says softly, running his fingers along the wood fo the piano, relishing in the coolness of it.

Robert just smiles. He knows, without listening to the boy's thoughts, what he's thinking about. Just as he remembers that Bill has a piano himself, in that old life... the boy certainly plays in that one, he thinks... Quite well, actually.

"Huh-Have you always p-pluh-played?" Bill can't help but ask, beyond curious.

"Not always," Robert admits. "I... I actually learned... for someone..."

Bill smiles, unbothered.

"That's suh-sweet."

"Hm..."

Bill watches those gloved fingers move across the keys, each one long and spiderlike.

"Huh-have you anything p-pluh-planned fuh-for today?"

"Alex has kindly offered to dance for his beloved audience," Robert says. "Mostly I think the kids enjoy being able to do whatever the hell they want whenever they want to do it. Within legal reasoning, of course," he says, smiling morbidly. "I imagine knowing that the animals roam around freely, and they can have whatever meal they want, and they can get just about any sort of fun prize, makes them happy enough."

"Any puh-perf-fuh-formances?" Bill can't help but ask, though he doesn't really want the clown to stop playing.

"A few in mind. Trapeze, perhaps. Definitely not the circus mice," Robert says, though he doesn't actually have any circus mice. And definitely not rats either. There were never any rats at Neibolt even before he cleaned it up. And he didn't fancy the idea of giving Eddie an aneurysm. "There's a whole summer ahead, no need to rush anything." He smiles, sweetly. "Moments like this, simply sitting with a friend and enjoying one of the greatest musical pieces of mankind... moments like that need to be cherished."

 _And remembered_ , he thinks mournfully. Lamenting.

"Yuh-Yeah," Bill says softly, biting his lower lip once more as that trickle of doubt bubbles in his belly.

His dad planted a seed of doubt and sprouted a diseased plant of discord. Or, at least, that had been the man's intention.

Robert glances over at him.

"Something the matter?" he asks, knowing that was the case, though he was trying his hardest not to peer into their thoughts anymore, literally listening to conversations he wasn't supposed to, though he guesses he should've done that with Beverly and maybe it would've prevented that awkward moment that forever scarred him for life.

Him more than her, no less.

"Yuh-Yeah," Bill says quietly, unsure of himself.

"It helps to talk, I've been told," Robert says gently, though his definitely unlicensed "therapist" was literalyl a child killer who haunts dreams.

"It's just..." Bill murmurs, sighing tearfully. "I'm suh-so suh-sorry..."

Robert stares at him, confused, and stops playing. Bill frowns at this.

"Whatever for?" the clown asks, genuinely confused.

Why the hell were the kids always _apologizing_? And to _him_ of all beings?

"Yuh-Yesterday.. muh-my... duh-dad..."

"Oh, that," Robert says, shrugging carelessly as he gives the boy a comforting smile. "I was more worried about having gotten you into trouble."

 _Besides_ , _your father is a fly_. _A fly in my web_. He thinks savagely. _He'll float_ , _too_.

That was a promise.

A dark promise, but a promise nonetheless.

"Nuh-No..." Bill says. However, Robert frowns as he immediately senses the lie. Or, at the very least, the half-truth. He doesn't search through the boy's memories, even as he smells the beginnings of sweet, tangy fear erupting over the boy, goosebumps flickering over his flesh... Zack might just float, sooner than expected. Real soon. "It's not that..."

Bill lowers his eyes as he pulls the card out of his pocket, already feeling that painfully familiar stinging feeling in his eyes and a stabbing sensation in his chest and belly.

"Huh-he... wruh-wrecked the cuh-card... I tuh-taped it buh-back together buh-but I knuh-know it suh-sucks," Bill says, his lips quivering as he forces down his tears, to no avail, showing the card to the clown. "I'm suh-so suh-sorry."

Robert stares at it, blankly. He looks up at Bill, a smile forming on his red lips.

"I care more about you than some silly old card, Billy," he says sincerely, Bill sighing with relief as the clown takes the card from him. Robert cannot help but chuckle, however. "I love how he didn't rip a single heart, though."

"I nuh-noticed that, tuh-too," Bill says, smiling a watery smile before frowning, tearfully, again. "I'm suh-sorry."

"Don't be," Robert says gently. He extends his hand out to Bill, smiling as Bill takes hold of it. "Remember this and never forget, if he ever does anything, anything at all, you can come running. Grab nothing, nothing at all, except Georgie, and simply run."

Bill gives him a smile, his eyes _shining_ as his heart skips a beat, his belly doing a somersault all while fluttering. He looks back down at the piano, not letting go of Robert's hand, secretly relishing in the softness of the glove and not minding the coldness of the clown's hand.

"Is it yuh-your fuh-favorite?" he can't help but inquire.

"Yes," Robert admits. He smiles, his own eyes shining at the sight of Bill's smile. "Do you want to play?"

Bill shakes his head, faintly surprising Robert, but he's still smiling.

"I've always p-p-puh-pref-fuh-ferred to luh-listen," he admits, his cheeks reddening.

"Nothing wrong with that," Robert says. He smiles, "It's nice to have an audience."

 _That isn't my own misery_ , he thinks grimly. _Or Georgie and Roberta sneaking around places they know they're not supposed to be_.

Bill smiles even more widely, though his eyes flicker again.

His dad's words echo in his head, planting doubt inside of him.

"Do..." he swallows thickly... He knows he's probably invading Robert's business, but he can't stop the sense of dread and doubt from pooling in the pit of his stomach. Robert eyes him, thoughtful, unable to understand what has made him appear so upset. He really doesn't know and when he does... Zack Denbrough will _wish_ it was Hell on Earth. He will only _wish_ he was dead. "... duh-do yuh-you huh-have a wuh-wide vuh-variety of.. audiences?"

Robert stares, confused.

"What?"

Bill's cheeks burn, his ears flaming hot.

"Um... nuh-nothing," he says quickly, obviously lying.

"It's not nothing," Robert says gently, patiently. "I don't understand your question."

Bill sighs, internally cursing his own stupidity for bringing it up after only known Robert for one damn day, two now, and internally cursing his dad for making him think that Robert was just going to up and ditch Derry. Bill hadn't a doubt that he surely would, however, because Derry was a dirty town. Beverly could attest to that, just as Connor, Belch, Vic, and Gretta were all proof.

"i just... muh-my dad... he suh-said nuh-not to guh-get tuh-too... attached."

"Well, no offense, little buddy, but your dad is a prick," Robert says, Bill biting his lips to suppress his snort of laughter. "If you want to get attached, he can't stop you."

Bill's lips twitch into a smile before it dims again.

"It's suh-stupid," he says quietly. "I muh-mean... luh-like you suh-said... there's a wuh-whole suh-summer..."

Robert's eyes flash, ominous yellow, glinting lethal red, before he forces them to remain starlight blue. Understanding flashes in his eyes.

"Beverly asked the same thing," he says quietly, Bill looking up at him, shy and hesitant. Scared. "About how long the circus was staying in Derry."

Bill's cheeks feel incredibly hot, as though he's inches away from a fire, embarrassment and awkwardness bubbling inside of his veins.

"Bill, there's a whole summer. And considering the fact that this house is mine, I would think that would be evidence enough that I don't plan on leaving."

Bill stares, surprised.

"Ruh-Really?"

"Really, really," Robert says, giving him a sweetly smile. "I know, usually it's the reverse. People just can't wait to get out of Derry."

"Yuh-Yeah," Bill says softly, almost breathless.

He's embarrassed by the fact that he's _relieved_ to hear Robert say those words, just as he's embarrassed that Robert knew instantly what he meant. Of course, he can't help but wonder for a moment why Beverly would be asking that question, before realizing that was stupid. Of course she would want out of Derry after what Bowers did to her. It was definitely true though; people hated living in Derry and most of the kids Bill knew, including himself, wanted out when they grew up, more than anything... but if Robert was _staying_...

"Hey, come on, there's a lot of good things in this town to stay for," Robert says.

"Luh-like what?"

He would stay for Georgie, without a doubt, without question, especially considering the fact that he was certain, almost absolutely sure, that "Option Number Three" had something to do with Georgie. He dreaded the idea of it and forced it down. But what on earth did Robert have to stay for?

"Guess you'll have to stick around to find out," Robert says, still smiling.

Bill smiles, too, and he continues to smile as Robert resumes playing, continuing where he left off on the first movement. Only, now the clown is smiling, too.

Both the clown and the boy are oblivious to Georgie's smiling face peeking at them from the stairs, the little boy almost grinning, ear to ear. He only ever sees Bill smile like that when he's truly _happy_ , and judging by the starlight blue of the clown's eyes (the color no longer forced but genuine when it comes to Bill), he knows Pennywise is happy, too.

He does grin, silently inching away, hoping to God that the stairs don't creak, to give them privacy and to not spoil their moment, when Bill lies his head on the clown's shoulder, his ear being tickled by the starched ruff around the clown's neck.

Robert blinks.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

He glances over at the boy, who is smiling in a dazed sort of way. His heart is beating funnily, Bill's and the clown's. Bill blinks, his eyes widening with shock and then fear when he realizes what he's doing. He quickly pulls away, Robert lamenting the loss of warmth...

"Suh-Sorry," Bill says, his cheeks and ears on fire.

"Don't be," Robert says, his voice so soft it was almost a sweetly whisper. "It was nice."

Never before, not even in that old life, had he ever realized just how much Bill's eyes really did _shine_. Especially as the boy lays his head back onto the clown's shoulder, Bill smiling at the softness of the starched ruff and the fitted doublet brushing against his cheek and his ear. The clown closes his eyes, feeling content and peaceful, as he lays his head atop of Bill's, the clown's cheek and ear pressed against his hair.

Without meaning to, the clown inhales.

He expects Bill's sweet and warm smell, his natural scent, even more lovely when the boy wasn't afraid and was having a moment of peace, such as right now, but he gets something else. It's so sweet, it's almost _sour_. It's too _flowery_. It's _foul_. And he can't stop his nose from crinkling at the revolting smell.

His eyes widen, forgoing lethal red entirely as he understands something dark. Something _sinister_. He doesn't know if Zack did it himself or if he made Bill do it but he's going to find out... and when he does...

Bill stares curiously at the two orange lights beaming down on the piano, shrugging it off as a trick of the light as he curls closer into the clown's side, unaware of the glowing orange orbs in the clown's skull, the sharpening of his teeth.

Oh, the clown, Pennywise, has smelled it before... smelled it on a young girl who grew into a woman... but he has never... never in this life or that past one... never in any life... smelled it on _Bill_...

Sharon Denbrough, on the other hand...

His eyes scrunch shut, the orange light fading, visible disgust crossing his face as he smells the air, not wanting to but unable to stop. Bill stiffens when he realizes this fact, his stomach clenching, the boy frightened of Robert saying anything. His painted lips curve downwards, the beast inside of him willing him to rip Zack Denbrough apart... limb from limb... bone from bone... as the clown, using only his sheer strength to do so, just as he wants to prolong the man's suffering.

 _You'll float_ , _too_... Robert thinks savagely, beastlike, imaging the numerous brutal ways he could...

Yet he sighs, his eyes flicking back to that starlight blue, a color reserved only for Bill. For this very moment.

"Not your brand, little buddy," Robert says kindly.

Surprisingly, Bill feels his insides unclench and unravel. Relief washes over him like a tidal wave.

"Thuh-Thank you," Bill whispers, grateful.

He knows, knows without the clown saying a word, that Robert isn't going to push him. Isn't going to question him and isn't going to demand an answer. And for that, Bill is grateful. He smiles. He thinks one particular thing about the clown, wishing he could tell off his dad;

 _Yes_ , _he's good_. _I can tell_ , the boy thinks, looking back down at the piano, back at Robert's hands.

His smile turns soft and sweet, his belly fluttering again as his heart skips a beat. It becomes all the more shy when the clown lays his head back atop of Bill's, but the boy doesn't move away. On the contrary, pink dusts his cheeks as his smile reaches his eyes.

 _White spiders_ , Bill thinks, absentmindedly, as he watches Robert's fingers moving along the keys.

He then wonders how mad Georgie would be if he took all of his white LEGOs to build one...

A white spider...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I am very happy with that last scene.  
> \- I hope Bev's dad wasn't out of character here, but a lot of things are going to be different.  
> \- Gan = Other? It's hinted towards that in the book.  
> \- Y'all ain't the only ones who can't wait for Zack to get his.  
> \- I might just have two more guests in the next chapter.  
> \- Let me know how it was down below!  
> \- See y'all in chapter twenty-one!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Chapter twenty-one!  
> \- I'm sorry for the long wait again. Honestly, there might be some gaps between updates. They're coming though, don't worry.  
> \- Uh, let's see. Billwise on the piano. I wanted a cheesy ass romance song in this but I wimped out lol. There is a Supernatural reference somewhere in here and I believe in an upcoming chapter, Leroy is going to get a moment  
> \- I was going to have this one be longer but it would have been way too long and I ran out of time today. This is all Billwise centered. Sweet and fluffy mostly.  
> \- I do believe the next chapter will be quite eventful. A heads up now it may not be very Billwise centered, so that'll be in the chapter after that one. I'm thinking right now that Ch. 22 will be centered around the other characters, and Ch. 23 will be slightly more Billwise centered.  
> \- Thanks again for all the comments and kudos! But a heads up, there may be another gap between this update and the next one.  
> \- Well, I hope it's good. Let me know how it was in the comments down below!

Bill is still smiling as he watches Robert continue to play. He isn't sure on how much time has passed, though it feels as though time is irrelevant right now, and quite frankly, he can't find himself caring. He is content with the clown, daresay happy, though he doesn't say so less he accidentally jinx it and the moment ends up ruined, and yet he can't stop smiling. It widens as he inhales, not smelling the foul, floral stink of his mom's perfume (his dad having successfully ruined that for him as well now), but instead he smells sweet and sugary and even salty things. He curls closer to the clown, knowing it was him.

And somehow those smells are all the more sweetened by the simple fact that, unlike the perfume, they were natural aromas. Not sickeningly, almost nauseatingly, sweetened to the point that it simply stunk.

He smells the sugary fluffiness of cotton candy, pinks and blues and even yellows, the saltiness of peanuts, the reek of hotdogs but not unpleasantly so, and his personal favorite, the sweet buttery goodness of popcorn. The scents of a circus...

His cheeks are warm even as he finds himself unable to stop enjoying those sweetly scents.

Robert lowers his eyes.

A protective thing, mostly. At least, that's what he tries to tell himself. He hates knowing what Zack has done, to his own son, to his own child at all, and the clown is not above being petty. And, of course, the natural scent is far better than an overly forced one in a bottle.

Of course, the clown cannot stop the beast in him from wanting to protect Bill. Even if in a strange way. Of course, everything about this was impossibly strange as it was.

Bill sighs.

Strong.

Raw. Not exactly earthy, there was something else. Somehow sugary and sweet, yet he was certain there was something underneath. Almost tinny, like the metallic stink of copper. Almost like blood. To put it simply, it was the clown.

Pennywise.

Or Robert.

Whichever.

Either way, Bill didn't find himself bothered by the smells. He quite liked them, actually. He was certain it was because it was Robert.

Bill gazes at the piano, seeing intricate carvings on the fine wood. He trails his fingertips over the smooth, coolness of it, just above the keys. The side of his hand bumps into Robert's gloved one. His hand flinches and he lifts it up, moving it away slightly but not too far, shy and awkward, but the clown simply chuckles, as though amused, and heat rushes to Bill's face, his cheeks flushing. He lowers his eyes even as the clown stops playing, gloved fingers brushing over the gauze on his wrist. The soft music of the piano still echoes in Bill's ears even though Robert isn't touching any of the keys.

He looks up at the clown, his smile shy, especially when he sees the pure warmth of Robert's smile. And his lips twitch and he nearly grins as he gazes into the clown's eyes.

Starlight blue.

Unearthly and raw.

 _Beautiful_.

Bill swallows thickly, his heart racing, as the clown takes hold of his hands, the softness of the gloves' fabric tickling his skin, and presses Bill's fingers against the keys.

"You try," the clown says softly.

Bill bites his lower lip, feeling incredibly shy and nervous even as Robert continues to stare at him. The clown smiles even more widely as Bill's fingers, though trembling like the leaves in the autumn, fidgety and nervous, take their places on the white keys.

"Music isn't always about how you think and it isn't always about what you sing," Robert says, though they both know Bill most likely won't be singing any ballads anytime soon. "It's about how you feel."

Bill grins.

"Yuh-You'd muh-make a wuh-way buh-better muh-music tuh-teacher than the guh-guy wuh-we've guh-got at s-school," Bill says. "He's a stuh-stickler fuh-for puh-perfuh-fection. Huh-He wuh-won't huh-have anything luh-less. Ruh-Richie huh-hates huh-him."

"And is that feeling mutual?" Robert asks knowingly.

Bill just nods. The clown chuckles.

"He would hate hearing Georgie play it then," Robert says, smiling pleasantly at the thought even though it makes him sad. He's never heard her play the piece. Not in this life. "She loves _Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy_ but can't play for shit."

Bill lets out a laugh straight from his belly and the clown tilts his head as he hears the first few notes of Beethoven's _Fur Elise_. Quick and choppy, short and hesitant, a few incorrect notes, but the clown doesn't see anything wrong with that. It was, after all, Bill's first time actually playing the piano instead of simply listening to it.

"Muh-My m-muh-mom used to p-pluh-play this wuh-one all the tuh-time," Bill says quietly, his flush worsening, as well as his stutter, as he messes up the few of the notes. The music teacher would have a stroke, he was sure. "She's wuh-way buh-better at it than muh-me."

"Practice makes perfect, but nothing is truly perfect," Robert says softly.

Though he glances at Bill as he says that, as though he doesn't find that statement entirely true.

Bill just smiles even more widely, though his eyes flicker, the barest hints of a frown forming.

"Muh-My duh-dad wuh-would k-kuh-kill muh-me if I truh-tried to p-pluh-play it at huh-home," Bill says quietly, almost whispering.

Although he wasn't exactly sure about that. He is certain his dad would be pissed if he was playing _Fur Elise_ in the house as choppily and terribly as he was now, clearly an amateur. He could hear his dad's cruel words now, urging him to be more like his mother even as Bill tried and tried. His dad and his music teacher, he was sure, would make great friends.

The boy was a better listener than a player, and yet he had the disturbed idea his dad wouldn't be too bothered by Bill actually learning to play the piano. It would make him more like his mother ,after all. However, Bill _refused_ to let his dad ruin this for him. This was for _him_ , for Robert, not his dad.

Bill closes his eyes as he tries to remember watching his mom's fingers moving across the black and white keys of the piano, tries to remember the way the music seemed to flow from her fingers, like a calm river, rather than the piano itself. He smiles as he does remember his love, not a simple fondness, for the song, for Beethoven's masterpieces, and how much he loved listening to his mom play the piano while he would either sit next to her on the bench or he would have his head on her lap, lying there and falling asleep to the beautiful pieces.

His eyes sting. A watery but overjoyed thing, as he plays.

Perfectly.

A breathless, watery laugh escapes him as the clown watches him play.

"Thank you," Bill whispers.

"Anytime," Robert says.

There is a promise in his words.

Bill stops playing after not even a full minute, his cheeks burning with embarrassment even though he had stopped messing up the notes. Robert just chuckles as he flexes his fingers, trying not to wince in pain. Beverly's eyes did not deceive her, after all.

"Any other requests?"

Bill lowers his eyes as he tries to think. It was summer, not winter, but he'd love to hear Robert play _Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy_. He's about to ask exactly that, but his eyes catch sight of the frame of the photograph along the wall. His breath trembles, a hesitancy forming, but he's curious.

"Um... actually if yuh-you duh-didn't muh-mind..." Bill says quietly, quite shyly, as he grabs hold of his arm, mindful of the slashes on his bicep, just above where his hand is at. Robert stares solemnly at the knowledge of that. It's becoming a nervous habit for him, the clown knows. Mike does it himself, quite often. Actually. "Um... I'd... I'd just luh-like to get to knuh-know muh-more about yuh-you... Um... wuh-where yuh-you're f-fruh-from. Yuh-You're fuh-family?"

Robert looks away.

"Oh."

He stares at the piano, though his eyes have become quite vacant now. As though there is nobody home at the moment. And yet there is the look of remembrance, as well as the emotion of sadness.

"I... I duh-don't muh-mean to invuh-vade your p-p-p-pruh-privacy..." Bill says quietly, his heart pounding.

Did he say something wrong?

"No, it's okay," Robert says softly, shaking his head slightly. "I... I just... I haven't really talked about those kinds of things to anyone before."

Freddy didn't count. Robert never "talked" about his past to the dream demon, mostly the bastard didn't understand personal boundaries. Invading the dreams of teenagers, sometimes adults, was one thing. Invading the dreams, therefore viewing the memories, of an inter dimensional, primordial being was another matter entirely. He had only ever told Pamela, Chucky, and Tiffany bits and pieces about his past. About what he was. Who he was. Of course, he was a television miniseries in some of those universes... or a film... or a book... Georgie and Roberta didn't even know the full story, either.

He sighs.

"You saw the photograph?"

"Yuh-Yeah," Bill says, staring most curiously. "It luh-looks ruh-really old."

"It is."

"Oh. Wuh-Was huh-he your grandp-puh-pa?"

Robert's lips quirk to the side, his nose crinkling slightly at the question.

"No,' he says softly.

"Um. Huh-Who was the guh-girl?"

"His daughter. She grew up to be Mrs. Kersh."

"Um... was huh-he yuh-your duh-dad, tuh-too?"

Bill was mostly just curious, though it was quite peculiar how Robert had answered that question. As though he was talking to someone he wasn't related to at all. Unless the girl, Mrs. Kersh, was his sister and he just didn't talk to her very much. He could see that --

 _The ladies_ , _Kersh and Kersh_ , _will be delighted to meet you_ , _the boys_ , _too_.

The Other Robert, or Pennywise, had told him exactly that.

Robert just chuckles.

"No. He wasn't my... father."

Bill tilts his head, confused. The Other Robert's words fade out of his head almost instantly.

"Buh-But you luh-look suh-so much alike," Bill says, his voice low. "Almost luh-like twuh-twins..." Robert's eyes close and Bill is unsure if he's somehow bringing up bad memories, "... wuh-was huh-he yuh-your b-bruh-brother?"

"No," Robert says quietly, opening his eyes again. They're full. Of sadness. "He was just some guy, that one. The same as me."

Bill continues to stare.

"But... you buh-both luh-look..."

"Damn near identical, I know," Robert says, offering him a smile that Bill can see right through. "It's quite a long story."

Bill frowns.

He recognizes the look of someone who is hiding a lot of pain. A lot of sadness and misery.

"Duh-Do yuh-you nuh-not wuh-want to tuh-talk about it?" Bill asks, feeling bad now.

He really didn't understand how Robert could not be related to the man in the photograph, unable to comprehend how they could both be just "some guys" when they really did look almost identical except for a few slight differences. The eyes and most of the face looked exactly the same, the eyes especially, and Bill knew that the eyes were the windows to the soul. Really though, it was almost as if Robert and the man in the photograph were the same person.

Well, almost.

"Not really, no," Robert says quietly. "But how can you stop being a stranger if you don't get to know someone? Especially their past?"

"Buh-But if yuh-you duh-don't wuh-want to tuh-talk about it..."

"I'd rather talk to you than anyone else in this circus," Robert says truthfully.

Bill is certain he would feel flattered if he didn't feel guilty.

"Are yuh-you sure?"

"I'm sure," Robert says, offering him another red painted smile. "What do you want to know?"

Bill lowers his eyes as he thinks.

"Wuh-Well... Guh-Georgie and Ruh-Roberta... you suh-said they were vuh-visting... buh-but they muh-mentioned that their duh-dad was wuh-working and their muh-mom was sluh-sleeping... you muh-mentioned her, tuh-too. That she'd come after B-Buh-Bowers."

"Yes," Robert says. "Although I think you mean _he_ would."

Bill blinks, faintly surprised.

"Oh."

He has not a clue about the discomfort this conversation is currently causing the clown.

"Georgie and Roberta... they like to visit, from time to time. Mostly they like to go into places they know they shouldn't. That's about it."

"Oh. Huh-how do you knuh-know them? Are they ruh-related to yuh-you?"

"I'd... rather not talk about that..."

"Okay... um... wuh-what's yuh-your fuh-family luh-like? Duh-Do yuh-you huh-have a fuh-family?"

He asks this question and then regrets it almost immediately with how Robert's eyes close. His entire face is so impossibly sad. The face of absolute loneliness. Miserable and longing. The face of someone who has lost those close to him. The face of someone who is lost. His red painted lips curve downwards into a Sad Clown's frown.

"I used to."

Bill frowns, regretting even starting this conversation.

"I'm suh-sorry," he says quietly.

"Don't be. It happened quite some time ago," Robert says softly, though he knows that no matter how much time passes, it will always _hurt_. He will always be alone. "It happens."

"Oh..." Bill whispers, "I'm suh-so suh-sorry."

"It's okay."

Despite these words, Robert's smile becomes sad.

"You're still curious," he says softly, opening his eyes and staring at Bill's upset face. The stench of guilt is permeating the air, nearly ruining the fact that the clown has just about doused Bill in his own scent. "You're sad for the losses of... individuals... that you don't even know. That you will never know."

"I... I just duh-didn't... I b-bruh-brought up buh-bad muh-memories," Bill murmurs regretfully.

"Yes, but the thing about memories is that whether or not they're good or bad, they should always be remembered," Robert says. "It's like history. If you know about it, the same stupid mistakes won't happen twice."

"Puh-Poetic," Bill says quietly, smiling awkwardly.

"I'm particularly fond of haiku," Robert says, smiling just as awkwardly. "But... I must confess, you're the only person I've actually told about this."

Bill lowers his eyes, mournfully.

"His name was Bob Gray," Robert says quietly, Bill glancing back at him. The clown isn't looking at him anymore, and is instead gazing blankly at nothing at all. Not even the piano. "The man in the photograph. And his daughter grew up to be Mrs. Kersh. They both died, quite some time ago." His eyes lower, that red lipped frown returning. "He was a good man. Bob Gray."

"Luh-Like you."

Robert's eyes harden. He scowls.

"No," he says, his voice ever so soft. "He was a good man. He was a good person. He was a good thing. He was good."

Bill stares, confused. His eyes rake the clown up and down, seeing how he was tense, almost rigid, his eyes having frosted over like the coldest of ice. A brief flicker of understanding pools inside of him, though his confusion bubbles over as well.

"Yuh-You don't think yuh-you're a guh-good muh-man?" Bill asks, disbelief written all over his face. "Wuh-Why the huh-hell not?"

Robert lowers his eyes, clenching his fists.

"I'm just not," he says through gritted teeth.

"I don't believe that," Bill says, not so much as a stutter in his words. Robert glances at him, seeing the heavy frown on the boy's face. He is actually quite surprised to smell the heat of anger permeating the air, seeing the anger flashing in the boy's eyes along with the disbelief. "You're a good guy."

"You hardly know me," Robert says.

"Well, no, but that's the p-puh-point of this conversation," Bill says. "I'd ruh-really luh-like to know wuh-what muh-makes you think you're not a guh-good guy."

"I'm just not. Let's leave it at that," Robert says, not snippily. He doesn't snap. Never at Bill and the boy sighs. "My family is gone, Bill." The boy's eyes water at that. "I had many... siblings..."

How very peculiar. He's never truly thought about it before. Maturin was equal to them, yes, he was the creation to their destruction. Creating without thought, without hesitation, without question, creating so carelessly and spewing endless universes upon endless universes and although he did not enjoy how they had feasted upon his careless creations, he did not stop them. He was wise and benevolent. And dead.

Maturin was equal, Gan was superior. In a sense, the latter was their creator.

Therefore, in a strange sense, they had all been siblings.

"I had a brother," Robert says quietly, frowning. His eyes are wide and a lid twitches at the mention of him, hatred slithering like serpents in his physical form's veins, curdling his blood like spoiled milk. "Maturin."

Bill stares, tilting his head.

The boy finds the name strange, for he's never heard such a name before, but that isn't why. He finds the name familiar somehow. As though he has heard of a person, a man, perhaps, named Maturin, or perhaps he has even met someone by that name, but he can't quite remember fully. Perhaps in some other life, he has, but he isn't quite sure. It's almost like a dream he can just barely reach, but not quite hold.

"Muh-Maturin."

"I hated him," Robert says darkly, the name making his insides churn. "I hated him for so long and even now that's all I feel."

"Buh-But wuh-why?" Bill asks, tearfully. "Huh-How can you huh-hate your b-brother?"

He could never hate Georgie. He _loves_ him. He would do _anything_ to protect his little brother.

"Some rivalries just never end, even after death," Robert says quietly. "We were just too different to ever see things eye to eye. And... there were others. Four, to be exact. And she hated him, so very much."

"Who?"

Robert is silent, closing his eyes as he tries to remember.

He _tries_.

 _You'll die_ , _if you try_.

Such cold and cruel words. A taunt. At least, that's what they had been back then.

He squeezes his eyes closed, pressing his lips together in a thin line as he tries to remember, his nose crinkling slightly. He tries to recall her face. Or at least the closest thing to a face as he can recall. He tries to remember her _name_.

It was like a veil dropping over his eyes.

It was like a chalkboard... being erased.

Blank.

The tension in his face relaxes, and he opens his eyes. Sadness.

"I don't know," Robert admits, his eyes glassing over. "It's been so long that I can't even remember her name anymore... I only remember Maturin because I hated him..."

 _Because some part of him still lingers_ , Robert thinks.

Bill lets out a trembling gasp, his heart aching, his belly feeling upset as his eyes water and sting, his nose tingling, at the thought of it as he stares, surprised, at the clown.

His face is painted like a clown's.

Painted.

Another form of a mask.

"My twin... not the man in the photograph... and three others... two brothers and a sister," Robert stares at the intricate carvings on the piano, ones he'd put there himself. Carved to perfection. Gender terms were mostly inapplicable, but Robert was beyond caring these days. "The clowns of the circus."

He knows his words are making the boy think that they were all simply part of the circus. In a sense, that was true.

"Would it..." Bill starts to ask but stops, swallowing.

He doesn't want to push the clown more than he already has.

"No," Robert says softly. He knows what the boy was going to ask. "It is not wrong to be curious. Definitely dangerous, but not wrong." He sighs. "They didn't just die, they were..."

It feels like something heavy is in his throat. Daring to choke him as a galaxy or two had choked Maturin.

To death.

He's also well aware of the fact that he's beginning to _stutter_.

"Muh-Mur --" he forces himself to swallow, "-- murdered."

Bill stares, horrified.

Irony's morbid sense of humor, Robert thinks.

"Did... did they..." Bill begins hesitantly, not having expected _that_ , "... did they find the killers?"

 _Nobody cares when a **monster** dies_, Robert thinks unhappily. _Some people dedicate their lives to the hunting business_. _Like Leroy Hanlon, if his name was Rufus Turner_. He shakes his head. He sighs.

"No," he admits. "It doesn't matter anyway. It was a time ago."

"But it still hurts," Bill says softly, nearly whispering.

Robert just nods.

He knows each and every one of them had it coming for the longest time. Just as he had. The scar on his chest pulses and throbs, as though Mike is stabbing him, running him clean through and yanking it right back out... as though it was happening now instead of 54 years ago... in that universe's time...

Robert's breathing hitches, though he needs no air.

He blinks.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

His heart pounds, but not because of his scar.

His eyes slowly drift to his hand, where Bill's is resting on top of it. Bill's breath is trembling, but the boy is taking hold of his hand. His lower lip, full and painted, quivers, as though he is about to shed his tears. Oh, yes, he has many of those to shed. His own breathing shudders. He realizes then that Freddy tried to have the wrong clown sing that song.

"Thank you," Bill whispers, almost croaking.

The clown frowns in confusion.

"For what?"

Bill's eyes water and turn pink, glassing over, as he remembers October. He couldn't even _imagine_...

"Guh-Georgie," he murmurs, sniffling. Robert grimaces as the reek of guilt strengthens in the air, feeling guilty himself since it further drowns out the stench of the perfume. "October..."

Bill closes his eyes but the tears stream, flowing like twin rivers.

"I juh-just p-p-pruh-pretended to buh-be suh-sick that duh-day," he murmurs, his voice higher in pitch and filled with _hurt_. With regret and guilt. "I juh-just didn't wuh-want to p-pluh-play w-wuh-with huh-him on a ruh-rainy duh-day... and I... I luh-let huh-him guh-go with that stupid b-buh-boat alone... he's only _seven_..."

Robert looks away.

He knows this story. He knows it all too well, having been quite the active participant in it himself. The antagonist, no less. He knows of the agonizing guilt Bill had felt for so many years, in every world where Georgie's death had happened that fateful day in October, for the death of his little brother. For the longest time, Bill had refused to believe that Georgie was dead. That his baby brother was gone forever. Even almost a year after the fact. And for even longer, Bill had blamed himself for Georgie's death. It helped nothing, nothing at all, that both of his parents blamed him as well, his father becoming cold and his mother distant, all because he hadn't actually been sick and had let Georgie go alone. The boy had been only six in her world and another world, seven in his world and his twin's world, but alone either way.

Without his big brother, without Billy, he was an easy target...

He remembers Bill standing before the storm drain on the corner of Jackson and Witcham, demanding to know why out of all of the kids in Derry, why the clown had to take Georgie.

 _Why him_?! _Why him_?! _Why him_?!

"It was not your fault, Bill," Robert says softly.

He is not quite sure which Bill he's actually talking to right now.

This one that he's sitting with. Or the one that he's remembering now.

"Yes, it was," Bill says tearfully, almost choking on a sob. "I duh-didn't wuh-want to guh-go with him... I luh-lied to huh-him... and anything could have..."

"That does not make it your fault," Robert says tenderly, Bill looking up at him, shaking with his sobs as he takes hold of the boy's smaller hand, his own gloved one almost engulfing it, almost devouring it. Bill wasn't complaining, however. "You could blame your mother as well, you know. Perhaps she wasn't watching him as well as she should have. Perhaps she should have put her foot down and told him that he was not to go out if you didn't go with him. Or you could even say that Georgie shouldn't have wanted to play outside when it was pouring like a bitch. It wasn't your fault. What happened," he says quietly, remembering. "Or what could have happened." He sighs. "You shouldn't feel guilty for something that nobody would have anticipated happening."

He remembers his own words.

 _I don't regret it_.

Those very words, he had spoken to Bill. Once before. Another lie he had told, spun like a spider weaves its web. A delusion to hide the fact that, for Georgie's death, the clown had felt _guilty_. That he _regretted_ going on that hunt.

 _I don't regret it_.

That was a lie.

He did regret it and he always would. In this life and that one. He regretted it after 27 years had passed and Bill Denbrough had woken up, all alone in the dark, cold sewer system of Derry, Main, underneath Derry's dark heart. And even now. He would always regret it.

Bill sniffles and sighs as he wipes his eyes on the back of his other hand. He smiles up at the clown. They're watery and undoubtedly the boy's tears are making them burn and hurt, but Robert can see the gratitude in their pale depths.

"Wuh-What ruh-really huh-happened anyway?" Bill asks, his childish curiosity outweighing the curiosity of the overprotective big brother he truly was. He has affiliated Robert with his friends, rather than a stranger or a monster, of course. "Guh-Georgie's adam-muh-mant that you were _in_ the storm drain. E-Eddie duh-doesn't buh-believe huh-him. Guh-Georgie even tuh-took wuh-one of our duh-dad's muh-maps to try and fuh-find yuh-you. Wuh-We even wuh-went to the Buh-Barrens."

"Oh, I was in the storm drain," Robert says pleasantly, smiling at the confused tilting of Bill's head. "Storm blew me away, don't you know? Blew the whole circus away. Blew the funny hair right off my head."

The real reason he didn't have the "funny hair" anymore was simply because he didn't see himself as Pennywise the Dancing Clown anymore. At least, not the one that liked to hurt people just for fun. The one that hunted children and left their bones for the worms and found humor in the anguish the parents felt and the sinister air that lingered whenever the missing children were mentioned.

He was just... some guy.

Some... Robert.

Some other version, that is.

Bill stares, unimpressed.

"That only wuh-works on Guh-Georgie."

"Oh, I know," Robert says, still smiling. "No, I just so happen to be very flexible. I could fit in a refrigerator unit if I wanted too. I also just so happened to have lost something in the storm drain and I may or may not have gotten stuck."

Bill's lips twitch as his shoulders start to shake. He bites them to keep the sound suppressed. Robert just smiles even more widely.

"You're laughing at me."

"Nuh-No, I'm not," Bill says, very obviously lying through his teeth.

"Yeah, well, why don't we just keep that between us? We both know Richie won't let me live it down and Eddie will freak out."

"Duh-Deal," Bill says, still smiling even though he knows it really was dangerous. He stares at his doll, which is sitting next to him on the bench. The fact that his dad asked about it does make him wonder... "The duh-dolls..."

"What about them?"

"Wuh-Why are they fruh-free?" Bill asks. "And wuh-why do they luh-look luh-like the kuh-kids?"

"I don't need or want money, Bill," Robert says honestly. "I just want to see smiles on the faces of the kids. Of course, I do understand that it is somewhat creepy, that the dolls look like the kids. I just... I wanted it to be special, I guess."

"And E-E-E-Eddie's fuh-fanny p-puh-pack?"

"That was just for fun," Robert says, smiling at the memory. And to think she honestly wanted him to taunt Eddie with the leper. "He was so focused on worrying about how dirty Neibolt used to be that he didn't even notice me slip it in."

"And the arcade?" Bill asks.

He knows that Eddie had explicitly stated, numerous times, of course, that he didn't see Richie's doll in the machine until _after_ he had looked away from it. And not at one point in time did he see the clown anywhere in the arcade or anyone who looked like they might have been from the circus.

"It opens from the top," Robert says, still honest. "Georgie and Roberta are both small enough to fit in there. Eddie is not as observant as he likes to think. It's mostly just fun watching him get annoyed when he tries to figure it out."

Bill cracks another smile. He wasn't wrong.

"I wuh-won't tell," he promises. "And Buh-Ben and Buh-Beverly's duh-dolls? Duh-Did yuh-you huh-have to muh-make huh-him a nuh-new wuh-one?"

Robert's eyes lower, his smile almost fading.

 _I hear ya_ , _Tits_.

Patrick had thought the noises he was hearing was Ben hiding. He had no idea he was walking to his own death. Or, what was supposed to be his own death. It was the same doll, yes. Robert had taken it after tossing Patrick's mutilated carcass in the Barrens. Of course, not much was left except for blood and some snapped bones with teeth indents in them.

"What's not to enjoy about searching for fun prizes in a barrel full of toys?" Robert says. Bill's smile stretches, though Robert found it almost upsetting that Gretta hadn't even thought about the fact that she hadn't seen her dad, or anyone for that matter, set up the barrel and Mr. Keene hadn't told her anything about it. Of course, Mr. Keene was easily influenced by the clown... "And Ben ought to make a sturdier door for that little clubhouse he's got. One could fall right in. But no, it was the same doll. I took it back."

"Huh-How'd you know it was Buh-Ben's? The underground clubhouse?"

"Lucky guess."

"Mm."

Bill runs his thumb along the clown's knuckles, thinking of his next question. He doesn't inquire about what the clown means by "I took it back" and Robert can tell it isn't even on his mind at the moment. Because the clown would have had to have taken it back from Patrick. One of the missing kids. Cheryl's face pops into his mind, her words echoing in his head.

"Huh-Who's P-Puh-Pamela? Cheryl muh-mentioned her. Is she another p-puh-performer?"

"No," Robert says. "I... I met her quite some time ago."

He lowers his eyes. He remembers meeting Pamela Voorhees in 1979 in her native reality. Ten years ago, on a technicality. The only two people she had killed were Barry and Claudette, the camp counselors responsible for the untimely death of her little boy. Before she had made the gambler's deal with the Necronomicon Ex-Mortis and sealed her fate as well as the fates of those who dared tread the soil of Camp Crystal Lake. Otherwise known as Camp Blood. He remembers how she had been just about to start the spell, for it was the anniversary of Jason's birth, and the day she would die.

He remembers the thunder, the lightning, and the rain. She had been scared of the book and the spell it demanded, scared of the dirty deeds the book demanded of her, but oh, how she longed for the return of her son. Or, at the very least, vengeance for him. That camp should never have reopened, especially as many times as it did, or tried to. Not after that boy's death. He remembers how he had scared her, even more than the book, just as he had scared the book, and warned her of what would happen. That the book was lying.

She only asked for three things that night in exchange for the book. She asked that the clown ensure that the camp never reopened, not ever again, for all eternity, after what those counselors did, just as she asked for everyone to know exactly why it was referred to as Camp Blood. Because of her son. And the third thing was that the clown give her a second chance, a way to redeem herself, and start a new life.

He had kept good on all three promises. He was, particularly, an expert at ensuring bad things happened to people. A curse on the camp, without the bloodshed and the carnage, and nobody would ever think twice about reopening. They simply wouldn't. Everyone would know that Jason Voorhees had died there, because of the negligent counselors, and currently Pamela was trying to figure out what to do with herself. She found comfort in cooking nice hot meals for the children, of course. She tries not to think about the fact that she almost made a deal with the devil, almost killed numerous innocent teenagers, almost caused the deaths of more people, and she tries not to think about what was behind the clown's mask.

"She was in a dark place, Bill," Robert says quietly. "I came across her on one of my many travels and... it, uh..." he sighs, shaking his head. "She made some bad decisions but she's not a bad person. She just did bad things. She asked me to take her with me, so she could try and start a new, better life. She asked me for three things when I met her. I've kept my promises good on two of those things. She's still working at the third."

"Oh..." Bill says, frowning. "Is she okay?"

"Nothing about a grim history is particularly okay," Robert says quietly, knowing this one all too well. "She lost her little boy, years ago. He was only a child and he drowned. Negligence. Not on her part. She trusted the wrong people to watch over him. And he died."

"OhmyGod," Bill says, surprised and upset.

And yet...

"And yuh-you think yuh-you're nuh-not a guh-good guh-guy."

Robert looks over at him.

"Nuh-Not a whole luh-lot of puh-people wuh-would offer a ruh-random wuh-woman they juh-just muh-met a second chance. I'm p-pruh-pretty sure that if I asked her, she wuh-would suh-say you're a guh-good guh-guy."

 _Probably_ , Robert thinks.

Of course, he was pretty sure that Pamela was mostly just afraid of him, afraid of what he could do, Exhibit A being how he brutally murdered Freddy in front of her, though Freddy had it coming, but he knew she was mostly more afraid of whether or not she would see her son again after her life had come to its end. Whether or not she would end upstairs. Or downstairs. He sighs again.

"I suppose so," Robert says softly. "Do you have any other questions?"

"Buh-Bob Gruh-Gray?"

Robert's eyes widen slightly.

 _Dammit_.

"If yuh-you aren't ruh-related to the Gruh-Grays then huh-how duh-do you huh-have the suh-same nuh-name?" Bill asks, not at all suspicious or anything. Only curious. Curiouser and curiouser. Instead of a rabbit hole, it was a storm drain, Robert thinks. "Is Buh-Bob Gruh-Gray ruh-really that cuh-common of a nuh-name? I'm p-pruh-pretty sure you're the fuh-first Buh-Bob Gray I've ever met."

"My name is Robert, not Bob," Robert says. "I don't know how common of a name it is. I... well... he's Bob, well, _was_ , but I'm Robert. I don't like to be called Bobby and certainly not Bob."

"Why not?"

"Because of him," Robert admits. "The way he died was..." he closes his eyes, remembering. "Terrible." He grimaces. "He didn't like the name Robert. He was a kid in so many ways even as an adult. He said the name Robert made him feel old. I just prefer it to Bob. That's what."

"Huh..." Bill says, tilting his head again.

Robert just smiles, knowingly. His lips curl upwards and he bares his teeth into a Cheshire Cat's grin.

"Do you really think that Robert Gray is my _real_ name?"

Bill blinks.

First with shock.

Then confusion.

Then suspicion.

Robert just grins even more broadly.

"Wait a minute..." Bill says, staring at him as though seeing him for the first time. He isn't frightened of what he sees, only curious. And maybe a little annoyed because what a teasing thing to say. And how can the clown _grin_ after saying something like that? "Ruh-Robert is yuh-you're ruh-real nuh-name..." Bill says, though judging by the look on his face, he may not believe his own words. "Right?"

Robert just openly laughs. The sound itself is like music in Bill's ears, especially as butterflies start to swarm his belly.

"Yuh-You're a duh-dick," Bill says, shaking his head.

"Yeah," Robert says pleasantly, shaking Bill's hand merrily.

Bill smiles at the gesture.

"Huh-Hey, yuh-you said yuh-you huh-had a muh-magic trick unlike any other," he says. "A-And the buh-best and cheesiest thing I'll ever huh-hear."

Robert smiles at him.

"Are you sure? Because what I've got in mind is pretty cheesy."

"Chuh-Cheese is good."

"You asked for it."

Robert holds Bill's hand with both of his large gloved ones, Bill's cheeks bloom red with how cold it feels, but not unpleasantly so. If anything, it feels nice. Especially on a summer day as hot as this one. He thinks for a moment that Robert is going to do some kind of magic tricks with the cards again, but instead the clown looks deeply into Bill's eyes.

The boy feels his breath escape him even as he waits, seemingly drowning into the vast expanse of the clown's impossibly blue eyes. Bill wants to say that they're like two pools that he's dove into, finding himself unable to resurface, though in actuality, he doesn't really want to rise up again. They remind him of two pools, but not of water. Instead it's more like he's found himself in the endless void, a never ending vast expanse of _blue_ , of space itself.

Unearthly.

Otherworldly.

 _Beautiful_.

The clown's smile becomes sweeter and Bill's heart _melts_.

Butterflies tickle him.

"Isn't this moment _magical_?"

Bill's whole body seems to shut down, time itself seems to freeze or stop its flow altogether, his eyes widening as he stares into the clown's eyes. The moment is so deep that neither notice their surrounding, both hearts beating madly and Bill's belly is twisting inside of itself.

His breath shudders, ghosting past his lips as his eyes flicker to the clown's... his dream is coming back, lingering in the back of his mind and forcing its way to the front. Robert smiles at him, sweet, sugary, and soft, like cotton candy... Bill can hear blood rushing in his ears, the fast pumping of his heart, seemingly hears his own blood flowing in his veins...

He is quite certain he can hear the gentle flapping of a butterfly's wings...

He swallows.

Tears stream, although he isn't sure why.

The clown tilts his head as he lets go of Bill's hand and takes hold of the boy's face with both of his own. Bill's lips tremble into a shaky smile as Robert brushes the tears away with gloved thumbs, still smiling at the boy.

Despite the silkiness of the clown gloves, his hands remain quite cold, but Bill doesn't care. He quite likes it, because it seems to cool the heat rushing to his face. He smiles back as his trembling hands reach for the clown, wondering if the starched ruff was as soft as it felt. His hands press against the clown's chest despite how weird the moment would seem to an outsider's perspective, his fingertips brushing against the ruff and he grins childishly.

It is.

His hands are quite warm, even through the fabric of the fitted doublet. Robert stares at him, an incredible softness unlike any other in his blue eyes... for the briefest of seconds, Bill is certain that he can see the glint of pure silver amidst the starlight blue... just like in his dream... but he isn't afraid...

Robert runs his thumb over Bill's cheek... sensing the lingering fears that the boy's own father has planted deep inside of him. He blinks slightly, his palm cupping Bill's cheek as he senses, specifically, smells, something underneath his own scent that he's marked the boy with, and even underneath that horrible stinking perfume...

Quite like a smack in the face.

Literally speaking.

His eyes shift into something strange as they widen a fraction. He glances at the card and back at Bill's cheek, the atmosphere suddenly laced with something sinister. It is not directed at Bill, however. He understands something then, the clown.

If it happened to Beverly, and it did, more than once, Robert's fingers able to attest to that, then since Sharon's departure Zack has been acting more and more like a bastard to his own son, more like Alvin Marsh, then it was entirely plausible that the same thing had happened to Bill... only instead of a postcard with a corny poem on it... it was a Bicycle card, the Two of Hearts card, and...

His eyes harden and Bill tenses as he realizes the clown had looked at the card.

Had put two and two together.

Ironically speaking.

"He hit you, didn't he?" Robert whispers, his voice low and deadly.

Bill lowers his eyes, unable to answer.

Robert closes his own, unable to stop his eyes from morphing and revealing his true self, the otherworldly and unearthly orange that he was. He knows that Alvin smacked Beverly in the face, has seen it, twice now, just as he sees the lingering fears and doubts that Zack has struck deep inside of Bill. More than just the perfume...

His lips twitch as he tries not to scowl.

"Bill... I'm going to ask you something and if you don't want to answer, you don't have to," Robert says gently, Bill staring up at him, a sense of dread pooling in his gut. "Did he make you put on the perfume?"

Bill closes his eyes as the tears stream. He reluctantly nods, though the clown doesn't let go of his face. He finds it comforting, actually.

Robert bites his lip, teeth sharp and jagged as railroad spikes.

"And did he put it on you? Or did you?"

"I duh-did..."

He will kill him. He will strip the flesh from his bones and relish on how the quivering little human's blood sprays from his wounds. He will watch the light leave Zack's eyes as the man slowly and most painfully dies. Or brutally and quickly, Robert doesn't care. He's dead, either way. That was definitely a promise that would go unbroken.

The clown knows how Alvin has forced Beverly to wear her late mother's perfume, every day, since the day she hit puberty and started to show... and to think that Zack was doing it now... to Bill... his own son... his own child...

Yet he clown sighs softly.

Bill is his priority. And he refuses to frighten the boy.

"I'm sorry, Bill," he murmurs.

Bill trembles.

"It wuh-wasn't yuh-your fuh-fault," Bill says quietly. "Huh-He's angry luh-like that a luh-lot..."

"That gives him no excuse to hit you. To put perfume..." Robert stops himself, for that Bill is grateful. He presses his forehead against Bill's, wishing he could just do away with Zack at this very moment. He hides his teeth, hides his eyes. The boy leans into his touch, sniffling. He's trying to fight back the tears but he's finding it increasingly difficult to do. He has made himself think that he has to stay strong, for Georgie, but it feels nice, being able to confide into someone about his problems, someone who doesn't judge him for his stutter, for the rumors, for anything at all. "If you ever need anything, anything at all, you just say my name. I will be there."

Bill smiles, sniffling. Watery and grateful.

"Thank you..."

Robert offers him a smile, an idea popping into his head.

"You know, Frankie gave birth last night," he says. "One of the dogs. Do you want to meet them?"

Bill looks at him.

"Huh-How muh-many are there? Duh-Dogs? And puh-puh-puppies?"

"Well, there are six Dancing Dogs. My Pomeranian. And quite a few puppies."

Bill grins, though he wonders.

"Any Suh-St. Buh-Buh-Bernards?" he asks, curious.

Robert stares, curious.

"I've always wanted one... but, no..." he says.

It had nothing to do with Stephen King's other story, either. He could like a specific dog breed without it having to relate to something else, thank you very much. Of course, he wasn't about to tell Bill what kind of car he had. Not that he really drove it, it was mostly for Pamela. Of course, most dogs were scared shitless of him. The Dancing Dogs were the exception, and the Pomeranian was merely an extension of him.

"The Dancing Dogs are a handful. They will not hesitate to attack if called cute or cuddly or if they see a foot coming towards them. Besides, the Pomeranian is a monster as it is."

"What's it's nuh-name?"

"Penny."

Bill beams.

"You ruh-really are an animal luh-lover, aren't yuh-you?" he asks. "Huh-Hey, wuh-when is your buh-birthday?"

Bill is mostly confused, because the clown looks confused. His eyebrows knit together, his painted lips curving downwards.

"My what?"

Bill stares, though that isn't a difficult task. They're still close together, the clown still holding his face, though he pulls his head away, staring at the boy with that same confused expression.

"Your birthday? When is it?"

Robert blinks.

Oh.

That.

He lowers his eyes, looking away.

"I, uh... I don't have one."

He does not exactly have a day of "birth" and certainly not an anniversary of it. He can hardly remember the day he simply was as it is. Not the day he first arrived in the earthly realm and the place that would eventually become Derry, Maine. That was not his day of "birth" but when a being exists before time itself, such mundane things like birthdays become irrelevant. He sighs at the upset look that forms on Bill's face.

"Everyone huh-has a b-buh-birthday. Duh-Do you nuh-not know wuh-when it is?"

"No," Robert says truthfully.

"Huh-How come?"

"That's one of those things I don't want to talk about."

"Well, still... everyone has a buh-birthday."

Robert is silent.

Bill's eyes light up, a revelation striking him like a bolt of lightning.

"Yuh-You cuh-could huh-have wuh-one this year," he says hopefully, the clown giving him a sideways glance. A look that clearly states "It's a bad idea" but Bill either is oblivious or doesn't care. "Huh-Here at Nuh-Neibolt."

"No," Robert says softly. "I'm not much of a fan of cupcakes or cakes and ice cream... streamers and confetti... or getting presents."

"Buh-Buh-Birthdays duh-don't always huh-have to buh-be about cake and ice cream. They're suh-supposed to be about huh-having fuh-fun wuh-with the puh-people you care about. It's supposed to buh-be yuh-your day. Yuh-You are guh-getting a birthday this year."

Robert just shakes his head, smiling. He was starting to wonder if Bill was becoming quite out of character himself, the very same as him. Of course, he knows Georgie's continued presence was part of that.

He would never regret letting that little boy go that day.

Never.

"Wuh-What's suh-something yuh-you've always wuh-wanted to duh-do?"

The clown looks away.

Nothing.

Absoultely nothing.

Hunt.

Kill.

Eat.

Sleep.

Repeat.

For so many years, at least 20 billion as he can recall, he has done the exact same thing, over and over again, in that exact order. Sometimes amidst the sleeping part he would dream, remembering his conquests of bloodshed and carnage, devastation and destruction, remember his hatred for Maturin and how the turtle carelessly created, he would remember his fellow clowns and his fondness for the colorful characters of the circus. He would remember Bob Gray most of all.

"I don't know," Robert admits. "I've always... performed. I've performed, ate, and slept. Rinse and repeat."

Bill stares at him with the gloomiest expression he's ever seen. He honestly can't believe such a "good guy" can have never have celebrated even one birthday.

"Nuh-Not even wuh-one? A puh-party or suh-something?"

"No," Robert says truthfully.

"Wuh-Well, yuh-you sh-shuh-should huh-have wuh-one this yuh-year," Bill says firmly. "Huh-Here at Nuh-Neibolt."

 _Too many bad memories fill this house_ , Robert thinks. He shakes his head once more, still smiling at the boy.

"It doesn't matter where it happens. I'd rather it not be here anyway," Robert says quietly.

"Wuh-Well, duh-do yuh-you huh-have suh-something yuh-you'd luh-like to duh-do?"

Robert lowers his eyes, thinking.

 _Not really_. _I've been alone for so long_... _in that old life_ , _before you and the rest of the Losers came along_ , _and even now_. _An omni-deity older than time itself celebrating a birthday party_? _Acting like age is relevant here_? _You haven't a clue how many more omni-deities would be laughing at us right now_. Robert grimaces. _Well_ , _how many more would be laughing if most of them weren't **dead**_. Robert looks away, wondering. He lets go of Bill's face, the boy frowning slightly, almost pouting, and the clown frowns as he stares at his own hands. _I suppose I don't really care what I would do if I did celebrate the moment I came into existence and spent an entire day celebrating the fact_... _humans really are such strange creatures_ , _aren't they_? _But I suppose that as long as you were with me_ , _I wouldn't care what it was_... _but_... _what do friends do with each other_?

He knows that before Georgie's disappearance, although in this world's case, it was Sharon's infidelity and the nasty divorce, the Denbrough family liked to take family vacations and trips. They stopped, just the same, after Sharon had left Derry. He knew that humans, children most of the time, liked to go on adventures. Some liked to go to expensive places, hotels or restaurants, for the holiday times or the weekends or even for birthdays, such strange things in his opinion, all to make _memories_. Good memories, not bad ones like the clown was affiliated with.

He knows that Richie likes to hang out at the arcade, uncaring of whoever he's hanging out with because he kicks their asses at _Street Fighter_ regardless. Stan and Eddie hate the arcade, however, because it often stinks, the lines are long, Stan hated spending money on games, and Richie always beats them at _Street Fighter_.

Ben didn't really have friends to hang out with but he likes to spend time in the library, simply reading books on history since he found the subject so interesting and he liked to write poetry and build things.

Beverly liked to play the piano, liked to read poetry and liked fashion. Mike also never had any friends to hang out with, but he did like football, and was an animal lover, hence why he hated having to kill the sheep. He was a dog person, Robert knew.

Stan liked to bird watch, like a good boy scout. He also liked astronomy, though that was mostly because of Gamora now, and working with numbers and was a bit of a baseball fan. Eddie liked to watch TV and was interested in the field of medicine, more than he let on to his mom. Bill liked to read stories and write as well as listen to the piano, Robert knowing all of these things all too well.

He knows that the Losers, or at least six out of seven of them, seven out of eight if you counted the fact that Georgie had been with them in this world, swam together at the quarry. Back in that old life it had only been six out of seven of the Losers, Georgie not there... he thinks grimly. He knows they went to the Derry Summer Fair together, all seven of them...

"I suppose I like Beverly's idea," Robert says softly. "About going to the quarry."

Bill brightens up.

"That's always fuh-fun," he says, beaming. Robert smiles, breathing in deep, at the sweet scent. Sugary and fluffy. Quite alike cotton candy. "Swuh-Swimming with fruh-friends."

"I promise you now though, the first time Richie calls me 'Bob' in a mocking manner, or Bobby, I cannot be held accountable for whatever might happen," Robert says. Bill just smiles.

Oh, the boy truly has no idea...

"Suh-So, wuh-what wuh-would yuh-you wuh-want fuh-for your b-buh-birthday?" Bill asks.

What would you even get the guy who works at the circus? Who works with animals all day? Other than a St. Bernard puppy, but it wasn't as though Bill could just go and find one in the street, now could he?

"I suppose I would just like to swim with you lot at the quarry," Robert says, smiling softly.

Bill smiles, too, his cheeks burning.

"I luh-like huh-hanging with you," he says. "And I'm sure B-Buh-Beverly and B-Ben and the ruh-rest of the Losers do, too. I know Georgie does."

"Mm."

Robert stares at the keys of the piano.

Black and white.

Where was the gray area?

"It is nice," Robert says. "Not having kids being afraid of me."

"You're not scary," Bill says.

Robert glances back at him, a sideways thing. He is certain that Bill isn't even aware of the fact that he's not stuttering.

"You don't know a thing about me. Other than I've got a lot of dead family. And respect animals."

Bill just shrugs.

"Maybe not, but whether or not you believe it, you are a good person. An adult in Derry who isn't..." his thoughts drift to his father, "... tuh-terrible." He smiles. "You actually give a crap about the kids in this town even though they're not yours. And I don't doubt you would have thrown Beverly out of your way to beat the shit out of Connor yourself if he had put his hands on Georgie and Roberta."

"How do you know that?" Robert asks, faintly surprised. Though, he neglects to inform Bill that Georgie and Roberta would've done that themselves. The beating up part. If it had been Robert, and the brat had put his hands on either, Georgie, Roberta, or even Bill, then Connor wouldn't have his arms anymore... "You've only known me for not even two days."

"You wouldn't have walked us home otherwise," Bill says. "I mean, you could have walked anyone else huh-home --" Robert frowns, thinking that he should have done exactly that considering the fact that another child had gone missing, "-- but you still did it for us, the Losers Club. You didn't actually have to. And you didn't believe the rumors about Beverly either."

 _Of course not_ , Robert thinks, _only a moron would believe that_. _It did come from Henry Bowers_ , _after all_. _She's 13 and the Unicorn loved her instead of trying to impale her_. _She's too sweet for this town_. _I would have to be gullible to believe that even if I wasn't_... _myself_.

"And even if you don't think you have friends in your circus, you've got friends with the Losers," Bill says, smiling.

Robert smiles, too, though it dims slightly as he recalls Richie's words...

Of course, the boy had never spoken them to _him_ in particular...

 _Welcome to the Losers Club_ , _asshole_!

"We like hanging with you," Bill says, his cheeks darkening as he formulates his next sentence. " _I_ like hanging with you."

Robert smiles.

A sweet, real thing.

A very real thing.

"Thanks," Robert says, still smiling.

Bill's smile widens.

"Duh-Don't thank me too much," he says, Robert's fingers twitching, painfully, as he recalls these words, too. How strange that Bill would tell him these words instead of Beverly... He's certain the only reason it was Ben in the bathroom with Beverly instead of Bill was because Bill was worried about Georgie... after... the blood... "Hanging out with us makes you a Loser, too."

Robert can't help the soft, almost faint, chuckle that escapes him.

"I can take that."

Bill smiles at him, a smile as radiant as the sun itself, and yet his eyes shine like the pale brightness of the fullest of moons.

"Do you... have anything else you'd like to do? The tuh-ticket suh-seller said you guys do b-buh-birthday parties," Bill says softly.

"I would rather not have my first birthday celebration here in the circus," Robert says quietly. "Cakes and prizes. That's about it. Well, that and ice cream. It depends on the kid, really."

"Wuh-Well, I duh-don't know wuh-what flavors you guh-guys huh-have but there is an ice cream p-parlor in tuh-town that huh-has the buh-best ice cream yuh-you'll ever eat," Bill says. "Ruh-Richie luh-loves it there. E-E-Eddie and Stuh-Stan huh-have to kuh-keep huh-him from wuh-wasting all of huh-his muh-money there."

Robert lowers his eyes, frowning slightly as another strange revelation strikes him.

"I've... never had ice cream before," he says quietly.

What a very strange revelation indeed, and he isn't the only one who thinks that.

"Okay, huh-how the huh-hell is that puh-possible?" Bill asks, disbelieving. "Unless yuh-you're luh-lactose intolerant or suh-something, yuh-you've guh-got to huh-have huh-had vanilla at luh-least."

Robert just shakes his head, smiling slightly.

"How about that happens whenever we have this little festivity?" he asks. "At this ice cream parlor with the best ice cream?"

Mostly he was trying to get out of it because he doubts he could actually be able to eat ice cream. Although he wouldn't exactly be opposed to taking the scoop off the cone and throwing it at Richie like a baseball, just for the laughs. Somehow this was all Richie's fault, after all, the clown was sure.

"Sure," Bill says. He grins. "You're a wuh-weird one, yuh-you know that?"

"Yeah, I know," Robert says.

"But a good kind of weird."

"That's funny. I was going to say the same thing about you."

His eye catches the sight of her intricate carving. He sighs sorrowfully as he trails his fingertips over the intricate design of a most beautiful spider. A festive decorating. All of them. All five of the dancing spiders. He trails his fingers over them as he thinks of them.

Himself.

Maturin's turtle carving. Robert was sentimental like that.

His twin.

The other two.

And her.

His eyes sting and water, a humanlike thing.

His thumb brushes over the spot where her heart would be in her spidery form and Bill stares, curious. The boy shyly lifts up his hand, also running his fingers along the wood, tips brushing over the carvings. Their hands meet in the middle, on the open spot, the clown almost jerking his hand away, though he barely moves an inch, as he looks back at the boy.

"What are they?" Bill can't help but inquire.

Robert just smiles, sadly.

"My family... from before..."

"Oh..."

Robert lowers his hand, his fingertips stopping on that open space. Bill places his hand on top of the clown's, offering him a genuine smile.

The clown returns it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Thanks again for all the comments and kudos! See you in chapter twenty-two and then twenty-three!  
> \- Let me know your thoughts in the comments!  
> \- At least the date is right lol


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Chapter twenty-two!  
> \- I'm pretty sure the The Other Clown is definitely not coming to an end :) I'm thinking I'm only just now getting to the middle lol. I may not even be quite there, yet! I just throw in some heads up on chapters I haven't posted yet. There are so many Billwise scenes in my head it's unreal. Not only that, but I have scenes in mind for the other horror characters not from IT and I haven't even really had an Reddie scenes! Or Henry's redemption for that matter and get this, I got an idea for Gretta, too!  
> \- I'm unsure of when the next update will be but I know it's going to have the first quarry scene and and the ice cream. Also, the Mr. Chips stuff in this chapter is mostly my take on how he could've been in the movie. I think he was only ever in the book. Speaking of which, this chapter is so very LONG. I think this is my longest chapter, and I'm probably going to start dialing them down. Then again, it had a lot more Billwise than I thought it would.  
> \- Lotta shit in here. Chucky and Tiffany as well as Pamela. I have more scenes in mind for all three of them. Also, the bit of Chucky's backstory in this is taken from the Child's Play 2 novel but I'll be honest, I've never read it and I probably won't. Me, personally, I didn't mind Bride of Chucky other than the ending. And the Friday the 13th stuff is still just my take on it and how it could mix over with other horror films.  
> \- A warning for Butch Bowers and the hints at homophobia and racism. And a warning for Zack acting like a dick in this chapter. I can't wait to write the chapter where Zack gets it.  
> \- The Pomeranian from It Chapter Two is in this and I think I like his little scenes. We all know that's the clown, or at least some part of him ;)  
> \- A heads up, this chapter kinda jumps around throughout the day and it's pretty long. It starts with Beverly's aftermath of accidentally making the clown chop his own fingers off, then it goes to Ben, then Mike, then to Bill, and then Robert and Cheryl at the end. Robert and Cheryl's part is the Beastars scene I mentioned before.  
> \- The Billwise is going to hit it off, soon enough. Next chapter is where it's gonna get going. Oh, I can't wait for the summer school chapter I have in mind.  
> \- Sorry about the incorrect date again, that was when I started the draft on Archive. I don't know why it does that.  
> \- Thanks again everybody for every comment and kudos, they really make my day! Let me know your thoughts down below and just another heads up, I'm going to have a large chunk of this story revolve around the clown's interactions with the kids before the horror scenes come back. Tell me what you think in the comment section!

Beverly dresses slowly as the heat in her face dies down, her ears and her cheeks a bright, flaming red, the girl having stood in the clown's trailer for a good five or maybe even ten minutes simply debating on whether or not she was ever going to be able to show her face around this town again. It was one thing when she knew for a fact that the rumors weren't true, it was another to know that, if the clown wasn't a good guy, they may very well have come true, though she knows it had mostly been fear that had been egging her on.

Fear of her father, fear of staying in Derry any minute longer than she had to, and now fear of what would happen if this somehow got out. About what she did. Or, in this case, almost did. But she knew, without a doubt, that it wouldn't matter. If word of this got out, though she knew it wouldn't be the clown's doing and certainly not her own, she was screwed.

She sighs as she buttons up her blouse and her shorts, buckling her belt. She sniffles and grimaces, her eyes watery and stingy. She feels disbelief and embarrassment, shame and humiliation, all four crawling along her skin, under and over it, like thousands upon thousands of little poisonous spiders that were staining her face with red. A _scarlet_ coloring. She closes her eyes, tears streaming, as she grabs her doll and her dress from the clown's desk.

She keeps her head hung low as she exits the clown's trailer. She misses the splatter of blood on the outside of it, from where the clown had severed his fingers. Not that she knew that, of course. Even though she knows that nobody else is actually going to be here this early, probably, aside from the animals and the little people running the stands, she can't help but feel like a fly or some kind of sample under a microscope. Being examined thoroughly, and the judgment was far worse. She can't help but want to hide away, forever and ever. Where she would do that though, she is not quite sure. It wasn't as though she could go back to her father, after all.

Beverly gazes miserably about the circus, remembering how for the longest time, since it was first spoken about all the way back in October, since Georgie Denbrough had gotten his doll, the very first one of them all, from the clown, she had honestly thought that she wasn't going to get a ticket. That she was going to be the only kid, the only girl, who wouldn't get a ticket, unless she did something dirty to get one.

The girls, namely Gretta and all of her little friends, were constantly boasting about how they all had their tickets. She had seen almost all of the girls and even a few of the boys, the latter more hesitant about revealing the fact that they had dolls, lest they get a visit from Henry and his goons, with their tickets. Gretta was the first to realize that, even after so many months, Beverly was one of the few not to have a ticket yet. One of the last girls not to have one And on that last day of school, Gretta had known that Beverly still hadn't had her doll yet.

Beverly had honestly thought that maybe she didn't deserve a doll even though in reality, she had done nothing wrong. At least, nothing wrong where Henry was concerned. She hadn't really done all those things he said, that Gretta said. Yet she had honestly thought that the rumors about her were actually going to keep her from getting a ticket. Gretta's nasty suggestions hadn't exactly helped the matter, either, the chance that the ringleader wouldn't let her have one because of the rumors, or maybe Beverly could get a ticket if she did...

... that.

Or, at least, what had almost happened... if the clown wasn't a good guy.

Her lips twitch and quiver as her eyes sting and water, her nose tingling as tears brim her eyes, glassing them over. The blue of her eyes shine.

She regrets what transpired in that trailer, the girl positive that she had genuinely scared the clown and quite possibly scarred him for life. She knew that she would be more scarred, emotionally and mentally, maybe even physically, if something had happened, but nothing happened. Nothing at all. Quite frankly, she had never seen anyone, man or child, definitely not a man, more terrified than Pennywise, or Robert, whichever, had been in her whole life. Almost as though _he_ was _scared_ of _her_. Of course, she is still beyond surprised, if not a little confused, at the fact that he had covered her with a sheet and hadn't done anything when he could have. And he had even offered for her to see his jaguar, Gia, with Ben when he got here...

The clown, Pennywise or Robert, was a good man. He was a good guy. She knew that, and for knowing that, Beverly felt _awful_.

She felt terrible for knowing that she had done something so stupid, something so impossibly reckless, something that could have scarred her for life, something that definitely scarred the clown, in the process and if the clown wasn't a better man, she hadn't a doubt that she'd live with that regret, with that dirty little secret, for the rest of her miserable life. And she knows it could have turned violent if not deadly had things gone differently...

It was also because then, if something had happened, she would have ensured that the rumors, somewhat, were actually true. She may have not done anything with Henry, nothing with the Losers, nothing at all, but with the clown? Gretta would never have let her live it down. Nobody would have. She is quite certain the clown will never truly know how grateful she is for that. How grateful she is for him.

She stares at the circus tents, striped orange and blue, the music playing merrily in the background. She can see all of the food stands and the spots for the games and the prizes. She glances curiously at the stands, frowning when she doesn't see any of the little people, the supposed Oompa Loompas, running them. She guesses they're still sleeping and sighs. She sniffles again, wiping her eyes on the back of her hands.

For such a cheerful, rather happy place, as most circuses surely were such places, one that had brought her a smile when Ben had found her doll and she realized that she, out of all of the kids in Derry, out of all of the girls in Derry, had gotten the special key, she felt so miserable and sad. She gazes about the games, wondering if she could play any, though she hated the fact that she was alone... not an employee in sight... or even an animal for that matter. The flaps of every tent were even lowered, so she guesses everyone was still sleeping...

... oops.

She gazes around, seeing the game for popping the balloons, all kinds of plush toys hanging above it, as well as filling balloons with water guns... oh, look, ring toss...

... wait a minute...

She blinks, tilting her head, curiously, upon the sight of a man she's never seen before staring at the rings for ring toss with the most pissed off expression she's ever seen on anyone. Although, she can sense the boredom in his expression as well, even from a bit of a distance. That wasn't the two strange things, however. The first was that he looked quite familiar, as a matter of fact, he looked quite like an actor she had seen in a horror movie, just last year, and for another, he had quite a few...

( _Few_ was quite the understatement).

... scars.

He was a rather tall man, almost as tall as her father but definitely shorter than the clown, and he wore a simple white t-shirt and rather old looking jeans, and the peculiar thing was the striking resemblance he bore to, well, Brad Dourif. Only, the scars on his face were the second peculiar thing that made him look not at all like the actor in question. He had dark brown, slightly graying hair that stopped at his shoulders, though she could see hints of ginger as well.

He turns towards her, as though realizing he was being stared at, and she feels her heart stop, the organ seemingly falling out of her stomach. She sees his eyes. Pale but definitely blue, but it's the fact that she can see the entirely of his face that shocks her. That makes her eyes widen and her lips part.

His face is almost completely mangled, almost mutilated, as though he had been mauled by a large animal or fell into some kind of shredder and the flesh of his face had been stitched back together by an amateur or maybe it couldn't have been done any better. Each scar is a bright, bloody red, deep and savage, so deep that they clearly didn't become pink and whiten with age, or perhaps they were too fresh for that to be the case, decorating his face like a bloodied painting.

Around his right eye was the absolute worst, because it looked like a huge chunk of his face had been brutally removed, maybe from a car accident or something similar, as though something had cut into his flesh and the surgery to fix it had gone horribly wrong.

All along his forehead, multiple scars run along the length of it, most of them connecting around his right eye and digging in _deep_. Along his temple and the side of his face, running along his jaw on the right side, was another long scar. One scar along his hairline had dug in deep, with an almost crescent moon shape at the end of it. Underneath his right eye, digging all the way down his cheek and past his lips and down his chin lie another scar. And along his temple, she could see the glints of silver, as though he had metal plates in his head.

His eyes harden, the man scowling slightly, Beverly shaking slightly as the expression on his face makes each scar stand out even worse, though she hadn't thought that possible, as his eyebrows knit together. She blanches, paling, when she realizes he's staring right back at her.

"It's rude to stare," he says, his tone jagged if not somewhat defensive.

Beverly's heart nearly pops in her chest, almost like a balloon.

"Oh, I'm sorry... it's just..." she says quickly, her eyes widening as the apology comes almost instinctively, the girl nearly stammering on her words, "I'm so sorry..." She goes for polite. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be so polite," the man says, not snapping but it's clear he's annoyed. She swallows and stares as he twirls a ring for the game in his hand. It glints silver under the circus lights and yet she can't help but focus on the long scar, deep and glaring red, running along the back of his hand. "You're not the one who made Freddy Krueger look like a fucking amateur. And who probably gave a whole lot of plastic surgeons heart attacks."

Beverly can't help it. She continues to stare, unsure of how she's supposed to respond to that. Instinct makes her hold her tongue, keeps her silent. He frowns at that.

"I take it you're Beverly Marsh, then?" he asks, sounding mostly curious but Beverly can't help but become defensive.

"Who's asking?" she asks.

Much to her surprise, the man chuckles, as though humored.

"I'll take that as a yes," he says. "I'll also take it you're the reason Clown Boy went running out of his own trailer like his ass was on fire?"

"Uh... yes?"

The man grins suddenly, the action making the scars on his face stretch even further along the expanse of his flesh, making it look even more mangled.

"Kudos to you, kid," he says, surprising her. "It takes a special kind to scare the shit out of that guy, let me tell you." He twirls the ring in his hand, a thoughtful look on his face. He glances at the house, as though he thinks the clown might come back. "So, you just going to keep standing there or are you going to play a game with me? None of the midgets want to and Freddy's gone. I'm bored as hell."

Beverly frowns.

She's surprised that he'd offer, but...

"Oh... um... no, no, I couldn't --"

"I'm bored and do you see anyone else eager to play a game with either of us right now?" he asks. "C'mon, at least one game. Nobody else wants to, the clown got rid of Freddy, and the prick won't let me have any actual fun in this shithole you call a town."

Her frown deepens.

"What do you mean... 'got rid of'?" she asks.

"Sent him home," the man says, keeping out key details. "He did not take kindly to your little pal getting a little kitten scratch on his wrist."

"Oh..." Beverly says, thinking about Bill. "Um... sure, I guess..."

She shyly approaches and hesitates when he offers her the ring. She throws her dress over her shoulder, her doll in her other hand. She takes the ring, still frowning.

"So... you do know who I am?" she asks, wary.

She's almost afraid of the answer.

"The clown's mentioned you, and not before you scared the shit out of him," the man says. "You should hear Tiffany talk about that Bowers asshole."

She lowers her eyes, her tears threatening to fall. He grimaces at the sight. He isn't exactly used to having to deal with other people's... feelings. But he too doesn't exactly care for what Bowers did to this kid. To this... little girl. And he would admit, his experience with children was not that... great.

"Hey, come on. I've done some dumb things in my life but that doesn't make me a moron," the man says, offering her a smile. She tries not to grimace. She knows it's supposed to be good natured if not his way of trying to comfort her, but he looks as though he's stepped out of the scene of a horror movie. "Any idiot with half of a brain cell, or even a quarter of one, would know that kid's an asshole. Any idiot with an actual brain would beat the shit out of him."

Beverly stares, unable to stop. She's surprised, but she feels...

... gratitude?

She looks back down at the ring, unable to not glare at it. She grips it to the point that her bruised and scabbed knuckles turn white. She took out her frustrations and anger on the wrong Bowers, after all, though Connor was just as much of a prick as his cousin, she thought.

"For years everyone believed them. The rumors. They still do," she says quietly, gritting her teeth as she scowls. "Or acted like they did just so they had somebody to pick on... What people say about me... what Henry said about me... they've said it for so long... It's bullshit that the people who came to this town just a couple of months ago know they're not true."

"Well, the clown's got a good bullshit detector," the man says. "But it's a bigger load of shit to know that some of the people in this town honestly do believe it," he says, thinking of what the clown told him about Sonia Kaspbrak. "Shit happens. Sometimes there's nothing you can do about it, so why worry?" he says. She shrugs. He extends the hand with the scar out to her. "Chucky."

She smiles slightly, shaking his hand.

She grins slightly, realizing that not only does he look like Brad Dourif, somewhat, he also sounds like him.

"You look really familiar. Sound familiar, too," she says. "Did anyone ever tell you that you look exactly like Brad Dourif? Only..."

"Yeah, the clown told me I'd get that a lot," Chucky says, shrugging. Of course, the clown neglected to inform him that he wasn't allowed to walk around this town freely. "I look like Brad Dourif, if he had Freddy Krueger for a barber."

"Yeah..."

She stares at him and he stares right back.

He's not used to dealing with children that aren't trying to run from him. Or kill him. Or both.

"So, you okay, kid? The clown looked pretty messed up. Damn near lost his fingers," he says, making Beverly frown with guilt. "How about you? The fuck did you do to him, anyway?"

She lowers her eyes, shame clear as crystal.

"Nothing," she says quickly, clearly lying through her teeth.

"Kid, the clown isn't the only one with a good bullshit detector," Chucky says. "It's why I beat everyone except the clown at Poker, but he cheats. It's not exactly hard for me to figure out why you'd have a handprint the size of Texas on your face and would be looking for the clown, especially this early, and if I had to guess, you did something, or almost did something, that most people would frown upon."

"Uh... yeah... that sums it up..."

She wraps her arms around herself, frowning as she silently scolds herself.

"Wanna tell Chucky what happened?"

"Not really."

He just grins, not at all bothered.

"Bottling it up does you no good. Believe me, I know," he says. "I also know that the people in this town that aren't here because of the clown are a bunch of judgmental assholes. Now, if you can't tell a creepy guy with a fucked up face in Pennywise's creepy circus your problems, who can you tell?"

"Nobody, I guess," Beverly says. "It's... well..."

She isn't exactly sure why she would tell a complete stranger what happened, she just does. Maybe it's because on some level, he reminds her of her father. At least, when he's nice to her instead of looming over her or making her feel bad about herself. Strangely, she doesn't think Chucky's like that, though she does wonder what on earth happened to his hand... and his face.

"Ben... he's one of my friends... he wrote this poem, on a postcard. He's sweet like that. And he wrote another one today, a haiku, and he gave it to me this morning. He wanted to go with me to the circus. He wanted to walk me here. He's good like that," she says, smiling slightly before it dims, like a dying light bulb. "I... I didn't hide it fast enough... he knocked and my dad heard it... I didn't tell him it was the wrong door and my dad found it, obviously... and..."

She sighs, heavily, tears burning her eyes.

"He ripped up the postcard... and you..." she points at her face, though the handprint is fading now, "... you know the rest."

"Well, sounds like you had a pretty shitty morning," Chucky says bluntly. "You good or do I need to do something?"

"No... no, that's fine... I'm good," Beverly says, though she's not so sure she believes her own words. "I mean... my dad... he's... he acted like I was doing something I shouldn't, acted like hiding a poem from a boy is something terrible... I get that I shouldn't have hid it from him but what does he expect?" she asks, her eyes hardening as her anger takes over.

How dare he?

How _dare_ he?

 _How fucking dare he_?

Who the _hell_ did he think he was?

"I get that he's my dad and as long as I live under his house, I live under his rules but..." she grits her teeth, scowling viciously. "... I didn't do anything wrong... And after what he --" she cuts herself off, not wanting to go into _that_. "-- Does he really expect me to tell him when a boy, when Ben, is treating me nicely? After the crap he's... He acted like I did something completely awful and he... he just... he..."

Chucky's eyes darken. He recognizes the look on her face. He knows the stories. The clown has told him, bits and pieces. And yet he isn't allowed to kill the piece of shit, figure that out.

"He scares you."

"Yeah..."

"This was the first time he's put his hands on you?"

"Yeah..."

Chucky knows the deeper, darker reasons as to why her father would scare her. He can tell she's beyond uncomfortable talking about it, but who the hell else is she going to talk to? She wouldn't want to tell any of her friends, Georgie being too young to understand anyway, and she certainly wasn't going to talk to the clown about it. Not after what just happened in the trailer. Or, rather, what hadn't happened. Still. Beverly's lips quiver.

"I hate him," she says, scowling. "He... I hate him... he's my _dad_. I fucking hate perfume. It _stinks_."

"Perfume?" Chucky asks, darkly.

"It was my mom's favorite," Beverly says, shaking with angry sobs. His eyes narrow, turning to slits. "He hates me, too. He blames me for my mom dying." Tears drip from her chin and onto her blouse. "I didn't fucking ask to be born! I didn't tell my mom to make the choice she did! She did what she did because it was either me or her... and she actually gave a shit about me..." she laughs, humorlessly. "Or maybe she just wanted out of her marriage. Either way, I'm the reason my mom's dead."

"No, you're not."

"Tell that to him."

"Don't tempt me."

Beverly sniffles.

She hates perfume. She's always hated it. She's hated it ever since she turned ten and she had started to... well, _grow_. Ever since her tenth birthday he has forced her to wear it. Every day to school, dousing her in it every day on her mom's birthday, on her own birthday. She didn't really like the smell of the perfume because it stunk something awful and wasn't her favorite scent. Too floral, too sweet, too sickening. It was always her mother's favorite, however, so her preferences didn't matter. It was just another way her dad was trying to make her into someone she wasn't, a person she could never truly be. Someone who, in her father's eyes, was _dead_ , because of her. Her eyes burn like liquefied fire.

She hates him.

She misses the darkening of Chucky's expression.

He's heard the stories. Heard the rumors. Heard the tales, of Beverly Marsh and her father. From the clown himself, or Itself, whichever, and heard the whispers from the snot-nosed little bitch, Gretta Keene, and all of her ugly little friends that were talking shit about Beverly behind her back after the fight yesterday. Which he found stupid, since Gretta yelled at Beverly to kick the Bowers brat's ass. Either way, he's pissed.

He gets why the clown wants to wait, but some part of him is concerned that the wait may take to long. Now, some part of him still wonders why the hell he even agreed to this bullshit, of this "world jumping" and seeing the worlds. Worlds, plural. Not singular. The clown told him as much that he was stuck in the doll's body forever, and the illusion Beverly was currently talking to was only temporary, and he knows his time is running out, same as the clown's. He saw what happened to Freddy. He knows that once he dies in this world, he's dead for good.

Strangely, the thought doesn't scare him as much as it used to. Of course, he's still Charles Lee Ray, and Beverly's dad is still a despicable piece of shit who, in his eyes, needs to get beaten into the goddamned dirt like the nasty dog he was. His own parents were terrible people, his mother especially, and she got what she deserved in his opinion. Maybe it's out of character for him too, maybe the clown just has that effect on him, but seeing what this craphole town has put this little girl -- this child -- through, what her own old man is putting her through...

... it pisses him off.

Yet he bends down, bending his knees and his back, so that he's eye level with her instead of looming over her like her old man probably does. How his old man used to do, and his mother, before he outgrew her. Literally speaking. He's seen the clown do this when talking to Denbrough, but Chucky's reason is different. It's more instinctual for him, an almost paternal instinct. His voice comes out gentle;

"Hey..."

She looks up at him, though he's almost eye to eye with her now. It feels nice. She wishes her dad would do that more often.

"I wish I could say it gets better, that there's light at the end of the tunnel, or there's a place somewhere over the rainbow, but honestly, that's not always the case," he says. "Your dad is an asshole who I'd love to beat the shit out of. Let me tell you, once the hits start coming, they don't stop. Believe me, I know. You wanna hear about my dad? It's only fair."

She shrugs. Admittedly, her curiosity is piqued. She supposes this is his way of empathizing with her.

"What was he like?"

"An asshole," Chucky says bluntly. "He used to beat the hell out of me and my bitch mother. She was a little woman, you know. I used to get bullied because she was so tiny. God, she was a bitch," he says, frowning as he remembers those things. Those bad memories he's tried to suppress for years. Though he does hold back quite a bit. "My dad, he, uh, he walked out on us. It hurt. It hurt like a son of a bitch."

"Why, though?" Beverly asks, confused. "If he was a bastard to you..."

"It was the only time he ever acknowledged me," Chucky says, shrugging slightly. "I mean, even if your dad is a puke bag piece of shit, he's still your dad. You can say you hate him all you want, and you can hate him all you want, but you still wish he could have been better because he's your dad. I mean, your old man doesn't know how fucking good he's got it. He's gonna realize that fact whenever you realize you deserve better and leave."

She stares.

"Yeah, that's... that's about right..." she says quietly.

"I've never personally believed in hitting a woman," he says. "I mean, imagine the roles are reversed and the broad is beating on a guy, believe me, that's entirely possible, and she starts the fight and is hitting him, then she deserves to get knocked on her sorry ass. Now, if the guy is hitting the girl, who isn't starting the fight, who is abusing her, every chance he gets, then he deserves to get beaten into the dirt." He shrugs. "When you're somebody's old man, you've got responsibilities. You don't get to walk out on your family. I've always thought that when a guy has a family, he's got responsibilities to his wife and his kids. I've always thought, treat your wife like a queen and your daughter like a princess."

He thinks about how he had told Tiffany that he would treat her like a princess, but that wasn't quite right. Of course, he was still pissed that she had brought him back and had the nerve to lock him in a goddamn playpen and keep him there... and yet...

"You really think that?" Beverly asks, faintly surprised.

"Sure, when you're a sap who actually gets married and has kids," he says.

"Don't you have a family?" she asks. Her eyes widen at the annoyed look she receives. "Oh, I didn't mean --"

"I know," he says. "No, the thought never really crossed my mind. I don't have great experience with children. The last six year old I met lit me on fire," he says. Her eyes widen. "Yeah, don't play with matches. My point is, your dad is a moron. Instead if hitting you, he should have went after your little poetry writer."

"Are you saying that's what you would have done if you had a daughter?"

"That's a big if, Bev. But, yeah. I'd beat the crap out of the kid who thought he could hit on my little girl," he says.

She then has a profound fear for Ben's safety.

She tilts her head, however.

"Are you sure you haven't thought about having a family of your own? I mean, you're pretty... coherent about how you feel about it."

"Of course I am, I grew up in a shithole inside of a shithole," he says. "I guess though, if I had a wife, I'd treat her like a queen. If I had a daughter, I haven't a doubt I'd turn into a sap. But I think I'd rather have a boy than a girl. But let me tell you, if you ever want me to deal with Bowers or your old man, I'm one slammed door and the clown's broken fingers away."

She can't help it, she smiles slightly.

"Thanks," she says, though she doubts she'll ever actually take him up on that offer.

"Honestly though if I had a kid, boy or girl, and they had a problem like you or Denbrough, a lot of kids would be missing teeth. Nobody picks on my kids. Nobody," he says. He then chuckles, clearly impressed about something. "I heard you gave it to that little bitch good," he says, making her flush with embarrassment. "And everyone knows you beat the shit out of Bowers yesterday. You really gotta do something about your knuckles."

She hides her hands behind her back.

She narrows her eyes, her brows knitting together.

"How'd you know about Gretta?" she asks.

"Well, the giant bruise on her face was a dead giveaway," Chucky says. "And you kids aren't as observant as you like to think. How else do you think your little dolly got in the pharmacy unless the clown was in there?"

"I didn't see him. And he's pretty hard to miss."

"Trust me, he's easy to miss."

"He's taller than you."

"It ain't the size that counts," Chucky says. "Trust me, the clown is very good at hiding in a very obvious spot. It's why you should avoid playing hide and seek with him. Ever."

Beverly's lips quirk with amusement.

"Good to know."

"So, what's tubby like anyway?" he asks, mostly curious.

He's faintly surprised, however, to see her eyes harden.

"Stop calling him fat," she says waspishly. "I'm sick of hearing that. So what if he's got a few jelly rolls? He's a little big but who fucking cares? He's one of the nicest people I've ever met. And trust me, that's a pretty short list."

"Kid, I give the two of you six months," Chucky says. "Three if _you_ start to put on weight."

She pulls her hands out from behind her back and with an unimpressed glare and the hand holding her doll, she lifts her middle finger up at him.

"Ooh, obscene finger gestures from such a pristine girl," Chucky says, grinning with amusement.

"Shut up. This isn't _The_ _Breakfast_ _Club_."

"Says the girl with the Ringwald cut," he retorts.

"I _like_ it. It has nothing to do with Molly Ringwald."

"Sure, it doesn't," he says, grabbing another ring and tossing it. He curses when it misses.

She smiles and tosses her own ring. Her smile widens when she makes it.

"So, how about you?" she asks. "You ever really think about having kids? I mean, you actually seem like you'd give a shit about them. Not a lot of parents in this town do."

"What are you fucking nuts?" he asks. She shrugs. "Can you really see a guy like me at a PTA meeting?"

"No," she admits. "But you'd scare the shit out of the principal, which is good enough. And if a kid had a dad that looked and acted like you, do you really think that kid would even have bullies?"

"I feel like my kid would be the bully," Chucky retorts. "But no way would I let a bunch of snot-nosed little assholes walk all over my kids."

Her lips quirk further into a smile as she tosses another ring, hitting her mark.

"But I guess if I did have a kid, I'd prefer a boy," he says, smiling softly at the idea of it even though he knows that, like the clown, he's going soft in his old age. Maybe it has something to do with the high probability that he was going to die by the end of this summer. "I mean, I wouldn't give a shit, either way, but if I could pick, I'd like to have a son. I've always liked the name Glen. Don't know what his middle name would be but Glen Ray has a nice ring to it."

"That's a nice name, but what if you did have a girl?"

"Well, I guess Glenda Ray has a nice ring to it."

She smiles.

"So, are you married?"

"No."

He grimaces at the memories. His eyes lower. He's thought about it, once or twice, but he never actually planned on it. Not that Tiffany actually knew that. Beverly can see by the look on his face, in his eyes, that he's clearly thought about it, maybe once or twice, or maybe he came close to it, but it just didn't work out.

"It didn't work out, did it?" she can't help but ask.

"You're a nosy little shit, aren't you?"

"Just curious."

He shrugs, still grimacing.

"I, uh, I might have thought about it. Once or twice. But, I, uh, fucked up a lot of things. I didn't treat her as good as I should have. She deserves better anyhow. Better than what I could give her."

"What happened?"

"Well, we knew each other for a long time and we --" he glances at her, as though worried he might say the wrong thing, "-- played checkers. Lots and lots of checkers."

She stares, confused.

"You'll figure it out, when you're older. God forbid your dad give you _that_ talk," he says, shaking his head. "But, I ended up coming by this ring. Real diamond. Expensive shit. And I left it on the mantle. She thought I was going to propose to her."

"Were you?"

"Fuck no, that ring was worth five or six grand, easy. I was going to pawn it, shithead," he says. "I, uh, I kind a got into some trouble and didn't see her for another ten years. She thought, for that entire time, that it was an engagement ring..." his grimace deepens, some part of him understanding why Tiffany would have thought that, and the other part of him regretting how he had responded to her question. "And when she brought it up, telling me that she hadn't taken it off all ten of those years and asked about it, I laughed in her face. I even asked if she was fucking nuts."

"Did she leave you?"

"No... some more... messed up shit happened... We both made mistakes, especially me, and then the clown came along..." he says, shuddering at the memory of that freaky fucker's face staring creepily at them outside of Tiffany's trailer. Eyes big and yellow and all. "That's how we met your clown buddy. One thing led to another and here we are now. But I guess if after all this, she does decide to leave... I wouldn't blame her."

Yet the idea of Tiffany, out of everyone else, leaving him, abandoning him like his own father abandoned him, hurts him something awful. He couldn't stand the idea of it. It made him feel as though his own knife was being plunged into his chest before being pulled out... He misses John, now that he thinks about it. He knew that the clown was familiar with the feeling of getting stabbed, but for a different reason. He doesn't know what would have happened to him and Tiffany had the clown not shown up, scaring the shit out of the both of them, and he doesn't think he wants to know.

"I've got too many issues to count, Bev," he admits. "Both of my parents fucked me over. She deserves better than that."

Beverly frowns.

"Maybe so, but I think underneath all those scars of yours, there's a good guy."

He can't help it. He snorts with laughter.

Oh, this girl has no fucking clue.

"Yeah, well, trust me, that good guy is long gone and dead, Bev," he says, tossing another ring. He scowls when it misses. "Oh, fuck you."

"I don't think so," Beverly says, smiling slightly. "Maybe you're just hiding him on purpose."

"Why? Am I afraid of what might happen if I let my good guy show?"

"Well, are you? Isn't everybody afraid of something?"

"You're as bad as the clown," he says, shaking his head and rolling his eyes as she makes another ring. "It's funny though, you're the first kid who isn't scared shitless of me, and not because of my face."

"Why should I be scared of you?"

"People are dangerous," he says. "Especially in this shithole of a town."

"Yeah, but you're good, I can tell," Beverly says, still smiling. "You know, it's funny, you sound and look like Brad Dourif and your name is Chucky... short for Charles? And your last name is Ray... is your middle name Lee?"

She grins, though it dims at the look he gives her.

"Oh..." she says. She stares, disbelieving. "Really?"

"Yeah... I didn't pick it."

"Huh. Well, you do sound and look a lot like Brad Dourif..."

"At least I don't sound and look like Mark Hamill."

"The guy from _Star Wars_? Why would you?"

"Don't ask."

"Well, have you seen _Child's Play_?" she asks.

"Yes," Chucky says, ignoring what he wants to say.

"What'd you think?"

"Too many sequels."

"It just came out last year," Beverly says, confused.

"Trust me, they'll ruin it with too many sequels. Same as _Friday the 13th_ and _A Nightmare on Elm Street_."

"Well... what'd you think of it?"

"I'm not the guy you wanna ask that question," Chucky says. "Could have been better. Can you believe that doctor was going to electroshock a six-year-old boy?"

"I don't think we're thinking of the same movie."

"Yes, we are."

She shrugs it off, making another ring.

"You can swing a good punch, I'll give you that," he says, smiling suddenly. "But it does you no good to fuck up your own knuckles. Never found a use for these, but Tiffany still had them."

She stares as he reaches into the pocket of his jeans and blinks with surprise when he pulls out a pair of knuckles. Only, instead of brass, like she might've expected, they look to be solid silver.

"Yeah, clown traded me for the brass ones," he says, eyeing the silver knuckles thoughtfully. He extends them out to her. "Next time that little bitch wants to run her mouth, or the other little bitch tries to start some shit, one good punch in the mouth is all they need."

Beverly stares, shocked.

"No, no, I couldn't... violence isn't --"

"Violence was definitely the answer yesterday, Bev," he says. "C'mon. I've got no use for them anymore. I'd get arrested nowadays for beating the crap out of a kid even if he was a prick. Imagine Gretta calling your little boyfriend fat and you'll do fine."

He puts them into her hand, the one with the doll. He's the only one of the two of them to realize that the clown is currently watching, if the unimpressed look on her little doll's face is anything to go by. He knows where the silver came from. From the female, or maybe not so female, clown that this one didn't like to talk about. Or, at the very least, her _world_.

"Are... are you sure? I mean, they must be expensive..."

"They weren't mine. I told you, they're from the clown," he says. "And trust me when I say that the clown would want you to have them, even if you are the wrong redhead."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You'll figure that out eventually. Probably by July," he says, shrugging as he slides them onto her fingers.

The silver feels cold against her skin, but not unpleasantly so. They're quite heavy.

"Are you sure?"

"As sure as a heart attack," Chucky says.

She smiles, sheepishly and shy.

"Thanks... how'd the clown even afford these things?"

"Oh, he didn't buy them," Chucky says.

She frowns.

"Then how'd he get them?"

Chucky blanches.

"On second thought, yes, he did buy them."

Beverly gives him an unimpressed look. He grins.

However, her eyes widen with embarrassment and he frowns when her stomach rumbles. Loudly. Hungrily. She realizes then that she hadn't even gotten to eat the breakfast she had made for herself and her dad... having run out before having gotten the chance...

"What? The fucker can't even feed you properly?" he asks.

"I, uh, I kinda ran out before I ate anything..." she admits.

"Jeez. Alright, we'll finish this conversation after you eat breakfast, Jason's mother's making it, and I'll kick your ass at a different game."

She just smiles.

"What's so wrong with this one?"

"It's rigged."

She snorts.

"It's _ring toss_."

"Yeah. Rigged."

She just laughs as she heads for the house.

Chucky watches her go, almost sadly. He feels bad for her, same as most of the kids in this shithole of a town who have shitty parents. He knows how Uris's dad is pressuring him into "becoming a man", just as he knows that Kaspbrak's mom is overbearing and overprotective, to the point that she's smothering him, and don't even get him started on Zack Denbrough.

He might've never had kids himself, might've never planned on it either, as he wasn't really one for the whole domestic thing that Tiffany always had in mind... and now he doubts he'll ever get that, since he hasn't a doubt that the clown is planning on "taking care of him" after this shit show of a summer is over and done with...

He knows that the clown won't let him go after Alvin, Tiffany either, just as he knows the clown is saving Zack Denbrough for himself. The clown won't let him have any of his kind of fun, the kind of fun that he and Krueger bonded over before the clown killed him. But come on, he was _bored_. And he knows a whole lot of people, not just himself and Tiffany, want Alvin Marsh and quite a few others out of the picture. He knows that was the message that Freddy had been trying to get across before getting murdered, of course, the moron did go about it the wrong way...

Chucky knows that the clown's kills this year have been purely accidental. At least, most of them had been. Richard Macklin got exactly what he fucking deserved, and those weren't even his kids. Veronica Grogan, Betty Ripsom, Ed Corcoran, those had all been accidents. God only knew what happened to the other kid (literally speaking), and while the clown had spared Dorsey Corcoran from a gruesome death, he knows that Freddy's power probably won't really last the clown the whole summer.

That thought doesn't exactly settle him. He, like the clown, still hasn't got a fucking clue what's going to happen at the end of this summer. However, he also knows that the clown's got a lot of restraint, but like anybody with not only a flair for the dramatic (or in the clown's case, melodramatic) and anyone like him, the clown will break eventually. He grins at the thought, wondering which shitty parent is going to get it next.

Zack was a definitely, just a "not yet" kind of deal. Alvin was a possibility. Mrs. Corcoran, however... He looks up at the house and a grin forms on his face, demented and wicked, but a grin nonetheless. If the clown is planning on getting rid of Chucky once and for all, the least the prick can do is let him have some kind of fun this summer. His grin widens when he sees a pair of suspicious yellow eyes staring right back down at him through a window, the handsome painted face of the clown manifesting in the glass.

He can see the interest piquing in those ominously yellow eyes.

He knows that no creature, no matter how old, how sentient, can resist basic nature.

He's got him.

The fish is on the hook, now all Chucky has to do is reel him in.

Just not the way Freddy went about it.

Beverly smiles as she goes into the house, smiling as she cares the doll in one arm, her dress in her other hand, and she slips the silver knuckles into her pocket.

No way is she letting her dad find these and no way is she going to lose them.

She smiles slightly at the lovely sound of piano music playing, recognizing Beethoven's work immediately even though whoever is playing it is clearly an amateur. The notes are short and quick, almost choppy and hesitant, clearly shy, and she knows the music teacher from school would have a heart attack if he heard it. She glances into the living room and sees the piano, but no one is playing it. No one is sitting on the bench. She figures then that there must be another one somewhere in the house, figuring it was probably upstairs, but instead heads for the kitchen.

She sighs.

She still can't believe she did that to the clown.

Almost did that...

Whatever.

It was considerably strange though, how people who had been in this town for only a few months were more coherent or at least observant, or less gullible, than the people who had been in this town for years. Not a whole lot of good guys were actually in this town, she thought. There was Ben and her friends, the clown, and on some level, Chucky, but how many people, like the clown, would have actually have rejected Beverly like that? Or, at the very least, rejected her without being an asshole about it? How many more would have covered her with a sheet to preserve her dignity? Though, she doesn't recall seeing the sheet anywhere in the trailer before she went in or even after... until the clown had draped it over her...

She shrugs it off. She wants to forget about it, just like Pennywise said.

But she also knows that her dad would probably have a stroke if he heard it, right after probably killing her, if he ever somehow found out about it... and she knows that Gretta would never, ever let her live it down. Would never let her forget.

She sniffles and sighs.

She smiles again, however, when she smells bacon cooking and hears the sizzling of it. Her smile widens as she enters the kitchen, seeing Pamela standing in front of the stove, preparing a plate, and yet her lips quirk at the sight of the second woman she sees, the one sitting at the kitchen table.

She doesn't look at all like she belonged in the little town of Derry.

Beverly's first thought is that the woman looks _cool_.

The woman is pretty, beautiful actually.

Her skin is pale and her eyes a deep, almost rich chocolate brown. They seem to glint green, bright and deadly, like a viper, under the morning light. She has pale blonde hair tied up into a somewhat messy bun, her sharp bangs brushed onto the left side of her head and they're curled at the ends slightly. There is a beauty mark just above her upper lip on the right side of her face, her eyebrows are perfectly penciled, and she wears black lipstick to match her mascara and her smoky eye shadow. Both make her eyes pop.

She really does look quite out of place in the little town of Derry, but Beverly doesn't mean it in a bad way.

She looks like somebody, like a beautiful actress, that you would see in a horror movie, but one of the more cool, slasher kinds. Not a monster movie. Almost like Alice in the fourth _Nightmare on Elm Street_ , but with much more black. And a lot more _leather_.

Almost everything she's wearing is black. Her dress is coated spandex and her jacket is clearly expensive leather, long sleeved and _cool_. Beverly could tell just by looking at her that her dress had no sleeves and she could see that the bottom of the woman's dress stopped just above her knees. Around her neck was a gold necklace with the name "Tiff" dangling at the end of it in elegant writing.

Her cleavage was slightly revealed, not overly to the point that she would look like a slut but it suited her. She had a tattoo just above her right breast, nearing her arm, of a red heart with a dagger piercing it, the name _Chucky_ written above it in black ink. On her legs are black tights, a diamond pattern, with black high heels on her feet. Her nails are also painted black, a nail file in one of her hands. She's sitting by the kitchen window, which is open, smoking a cigarette.

In Beverly's opinion, the woman is beautiful in a scary kind of way, but so totally _cool_.

Beverly glances at Pamela, realizing that neither women have noticed her presence. The older woman is filling the plate in her hands with pancakes and bacon, sausages and eggs. Both fried eggs and scrambled ones. Beverly feels awkward, but in a nice sort of way. A grateful sort. She's never had someone make her breakfast before. She watches Pamela give the other woman, who Beverly guesses is Tiffany, an unimpressed look as she crinkles her nose in disgust at the smell of the cigarette smoke.

"Those things aren't good for you," she says, her tone disapproving in what Beverly supposes is a motherly sort of way. "They'll kill you."

"I've got things inside of me that I need to kill," Tiffany retorts.

Her voice is smooth and silky, rich like honey.

She lets out a puff of smoke.

"Any big plans for today, Pamela? You're the only one the clown doesn't think needs a babysitter. And the only one he lets drive his car."

Pamela looks away.

"I'm making breakfast," she says stiffly. "The Lamonica girl didn't eat until I gave her a plate. Same as the Marsh girl, I'm sure."

Beverly tenses at the use of her name, yet she frowns. She can't help the politeness that escapes her, though Chucky had told her not to be so polite, but she can't help it. It's almost instinctive.

"You don't have to do that," she says softly, catching their attention.

Both turn towards her, faintly surprised.

One woman smiles at her, the other one narrows her eyes and Beverly swallows. She recognizes that scrutinizing look all too well, after all.

"I wanted to, dear," Pamela says softly, her smile sweet and maternal as she sets Beverly's plate on the table. "Go on, help yourself."

Beverly swallows again, beyond nervous and daresay genuinely intimidated by Tiffany's piercing stare as she practically drags her feet to the kitchen table, feeling quite like a fly under a microscope again. She shyly sits down and tries not to jump when she's offered a glass of orange juice and the syrup.

"Thank you," Beverly says softly, almost whispering, her smile honest even as she sets her doll down on the table and her dress over the back of the chair. Her shaky hands grab for a fork and a knife. Her eyes and face burn with embarrassment as she senses the lingering stares on her person. She stares down at the plate, however, refusing to look up. "Um... hi?"

"Be gentle, won't you?" Pamela asks. "She's had a rough morning?"

Beverly's cheeks darken, the girl visibly flushing.

Surely, the clown didn't --

He hadn't _promised_ anything, but --

"A handprint on your face, which is covered in your own tears, and you run to the house of a complete stranger, a man you've only known for not even two days, the same man who has probably shown you a kindness unlike anything else you've ever experienced before, and you think we don't know?" Tiffany says, twirling her nail file between her fingers. "And the clown suddenly runs like hell back into the house, his fingers damn near chopped off, and you come in, nearly twenty minutes later. And with the rumors about you? It's not hard to figure out, sweet face. You haven't a clue how lucky you are that the clown is better than some people."

Beverly swallows again, her appetite vanishing. Her eyes burn and her lips quiver, embarrassment and shame pooling in her insides. It feels as though _maggots_ are eating her from the inside out. She feels ready to start blubbering all over again.

"I... I didn't mean --"

"That's enough," Pamela says, her tone stern yet motherly.

"I'm not done," Tiffany says, sounding equally stern yet maternal. "I understand that every circumstance was beyond ridiculous. Beyond messed up for a girl of your age, but where is your self respect?" she asks. "You know what my mother used to say about _dirty_ girls?"

Beverly shakes her head, closing her eyes.

"You can always smell it on girls who sell it," Tiffany says, sounding disapproving in a motherly sort of way. Almost like a tough love sort of thing, and yet... "You are not that kind of girl, Miss Marsh. Trust me when I tell you that you do not want to become one."

Beverly blinks with shock, blinking away the tears.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

She glances almost warily up at Tiffany, who is staring at her with that same look that Beverly would guess is the expression of a woman who actually gives a shit about something or someone other than herself, almost like a motherly figure, though Beverly never had one of those before, but this was one of those times when a scolding was necessary. Tiffany scoffs, almost looking offended.

"What? Did you honestly think I thought you were some kind of tramp?" she asks. "Aren't you only 13?"

"Well, yeah, but..."

"But _what_? _Are_ the rumors true?" Tiffany asks, the question rhetorical. She knew the answer.

"Well, no, but..."

"Well, there you go. The rumors aren't true, so you shouldn't go and make them come true," Tiffany says. "That Keene girl has no idea what she's talking about."

Beverly can't help it.

She starts to cry.

Sob, even.

They aren't tears of her upset, however. Just as they aren't tears of anger or humiliation.

They're tears of joy.

Of gratitude.

"Thank you," she croaks, sniffling.

"Mm."

"Your food will grow cold if you don't eat it," Pamela says gently.

Beverly smiles, watery but grateful, as she helps herself to her breakfast.

"Thank you," she repeats. "But... you know about the rumors?"

"The clown warned us about them," Tiffany admits. "Not that they were true but that you had a shitty hand dealt to you." She scoffs, disgust written all over her beautiful face. "The nerve of that little _pig_. What would his mother have to say about that? And the nerve of that horrible little girl. I honestly don't think that half of the people in this town really believe that garbage, I think it's just their way of making themselves feel better about their own miserable lives."

Beverly smiles, knowing that was true.

"So... you know the clown, obviously... how'd you meet him?"

Silence.

Black painted lips quirk, a thoughtful look crossing Tiffany's face. Pamela even looks away.

Beverly frowns as she recognizes the looks; she can tell both are trying to think of something to say without telling the full truth. She knows those looks all too well, because she often wears the same expression when speaking to her father.

"I... I met the clown at a campground," Pamela admits, smiling awkwardly. "I know, I'm not quite helping the..." she frowns, "... _Friday the 13th_ vibe... but that's where I met him. The clown. He helped me out of a bad spot."

Tiffany sighs.

It was different. It was definitely weird, too.

She had seen those films. Knew the stories surrounding Camp Crystal Lake. Or Camp Blood. It was weird to think that something like the clown actually existed, though the idea of magic was not lost upon her and Chucky, because Chucky learned all he knows from John before he killed him, and Tiffany learned everything she knew from Chucky. However, it was peculiar, if not mind boggling, to think that more than one world could exist, even though she had seen the 1990 version of the television miniseries _IT_.

How strange to think that was an actual clown at one point. How very strange to think that she was probably pissing off another clown at this very moment, albeit unintentionally. She tried not to think about those things, however. It was just strange to meet Pamela Voorhees herself, head intact and all. It was weird to think about how many "horror icons" were currently residing in this... world, alone.

Of course, if she was Pamela Voorhees back in 1958, she would have done the exact same thing.

"I met him in my trailer park," Tiffany admits. "Chucky and I, we had a bit of a rough patch ourselves... the clown was nice about it, though."

It was definitely easier to have the clown take the two of them to Hackensack, New Jersey than to figure out how she and Chucky were supposed to get there. Of course, that didn't exactly mean that the clown had given them the Heart of Damballa back, not that it was actually Chucky's in the first place. She frowns. She knows the illusion of her human self won't last forever, just as she knows she and Chucky probably won't be around much longer.

However, she offers Beverly a smile.

"So, how about you? Other than the bullshit spread by that little fucker, are there any subjects in school you like?"

"No," Beverly admits. "Music and English, that's about it. The music teacher... he's a prick."

"Language," Pamela chides her, not fond of that kind of language.

"Sorry..." Beverly says quietly. "I mostly just skip class. To sit in the bathroom and smoke. It's part of why I'm in summer school."

"Those things will kill you," Tiffany says.

Pamela gives her a dirty look. She smiles sweetly in response.

"So, simply out of curiosity, how did you leave things with your father?" Tiffany asks, a note of edge in her voice.

"Not good," Beverly admits. "I shoved him away and ran for it... I don't know what I'm supposed to say or do now... all of this over a poem on a postcard..."

"Was it good?" Tiffany asks.

"Was what good?" Beverly asks, confused.

"The poem, silly," Tiffany says, smiling. "Was the poem good?"

"Oh, yeah, it was. It was a haiku," Beverly says, smiling awkwardly before it dims. "He... he ripped it up, though."

"I feel like that's a theme here," Tiffany says.

"What do you mean?" Beverly asks.

"Well, the clown gave your little friend that little card of is. And that got ripped up by his dad," Tiffany says, the clown having said as much. "And like you, he was smacked like a tramp for it."

"Oh..." Beverly says quietly, grimacing. "Is he okay?"

"Oh, he's fine. He will be, anyway. He's the one butchering a classic upstairs," Tiffany says, smiling strangely. "Honestly though, both of your fathers don't deserve those titles."

Beverly is quiet.

She bites her lower lip. Tiffany smiles.

"Curiosity killed the cat, Bev," she says.

"Satisfaction brought it back," Beverly says and the older woman grins, teeth bared. "So... Tiffany... um... are you guys, circus performers at all? I mean, you don't look like it... you especially..."

"Nah," Tiffany says. "Clown often asks me for advice, that's about it. I was never big on the whole circus spiel anyway. Not really a fan of this town either. You try having catcalls and wolf whistles headed your way and see how you feel."

"Yeah, people are... rude," Beverly says quietly. "But you look so cool..."

Tiffany smiles, smugly.

"It's nice to be complimented for once, and not because somebody wants something," she says, taking another long drag of her cigarette.

"A little too revealing, don't you think?" Pamela asks dryly.

"Maybe a little but it's not for sale. There's a difference," Tiffany says.

"Honestly, I'm a little jealous," Beverly admits. "I mean, confidence, that's one thing. And... you're definitely confident... are you a natural blonde or dyed?"

"Dyed, but don't tell anyone," Tiffany says, pressing her index finger to her lips. "Chucky still thinks it's natural."

Beverly grins and laughs slightly, pressing her own index finger to her lips. Tiffany smiles.

"But, sweetface, there's nothing to be jealous of. Every woman is beautiful in their own way and each one grows into themselves on their own time," Tiffany says.

"That's ironic coming from you," Beverly says, smiling. "Still, I wish I looked like you."

"Well, you know, throw a leather jacket over your shoulders, maybe dress a little Alice from that fourth Freddy film and voila," Tiffany says, smiling.

"I wish, they're so expensive," Beverly says, shaking her head.

"Well, maybe the clown will make it a prize. Wouldn't doubt it. Fucker can pull anything out of his ass if he tries hard enough," Tiffany says, almost enviously.

"Language, please," Pamela says, shaking her head even though she knew that was true. "Well, is there anything in this little circus of his that you enjoy?"

Beverly shrugs.

"I liked the horse yesterday, even if he did rear up at Ben. I like the animals. He promised I could see his jaguar, Gia, with Ben when he got here," she says, smiling.

She frowns, however, her features darkening visibly, as she realizes with a sickening lurch in her belly that she must have run right past Ben when running away from her father... which most likely meant that he had seen the whole thing... and probably knew what had happened... Her eyes sting and water, a horrible gut wrenching feeling erupting from deep down inside of her... doubt poisons her thoughts, brewing like a stormy cloud.

... after seeing that fiasco, after seeing her run and seeing how angry her father had gotten, would Ben even _want_ to be friends with her anymore? And what if he told the rest of the Losers? Would they not want to hang out with her anymore? Bill surely couldn't stop Georgie even if he tried, but still... she knew Georgie would've ditched Richie in a heartbeat had her dad shown up while they were cleaning...

"Hey, come on. What happened with the clown happened. What happened with your father happened. There's nothing to be ashamed of," Pamela says softly.

"No, no, it's not that, it's... well, I think I scared the clown more than myself, to be honest," Beverly says, causing both women to share a look of disbelief. Beverly's lips quiver tearfully. "No, it's... Ben."

"Your poetry writer," Pamela says softly.

"Yeah... he... he was outside my apartment, waiting for me and... I ran outside, my dad was chasing me..." she can't help but cry as though she's in 3rd grade all over again, only a day after being in that stupid play that the teachers had made her participate in, and all of a sudden Gretta was suddenly sneering at her, calling her trashy and a whoremonger, though Beverly, at the time, didn't know what that last one meant. She almost bawls, like a child. Her hand trembles and her words shake. "I don't know if he'll want to be friends anymore... if any of them will... and..."

She starts to blubber and Pamela offers her a handkerchief.

"There are scarier things than meeting a girl's father," Tiffany says, knowing that was the case. Especially where the clown was concerned. She smiles, knowing the clown heard that. "Besides, do you really think he would want to stop being friends with you just because your dad is an asshole? Maybe one day you could introduce him to your father, or just tell him, when you go home, what happened. Maybe use that as an excuse to introduce your chubby buddy to him."

"I doubt it," Beverly says bitterly. "He _hit_ me over a _poem_." She wipes her eyes on the cloth. She scowls. "I hate him."

She really does. In a twisted way, she hates him and loves him. Just as Chucky said. He was still her dad, but he was such a bastard to her. She hates him for forcing her to wear her mother's perfume, for forcing her, for so long, to keep her hair long, like her mother's, to cook his meals for him... Sometimes she wonders if it had been better if she had been born a boy, but then she doubts it. She figures then that she probably would've had a childhood similar to Chucky's, getting beaten by her father. "I hate him..."

"Nobody blames you, sweetface," Tiffany says gently. "But surely Ben won't just ditch you because of your dad."

"I don't know," Beverly murmurs.

"If he doesn't want to man up and meet your dad, if he doesn't want to do all that he can to make you happy, then he isn't worth it," Tiffany says.

"You're too young to be worrying about those kinds of things anyway," Pamela says. "You should be focusing more on your education, more on your future, you should be focusing on making a name for yourself and rising above what this dirty little town has done to you. I haven't a doubt you've got a bright future ahead of you."

"I doubt it," Beverly says. Oh, she truly has no idea... "It's just... nobody ever wrote me a poem before. Nobody's ever complimented me before unless it was about something nasty... something about Henry... I just thought that..." she smiles a watery smile. "... maybe Ben would actually _like_ me."

"I'm sure Ben likes you just fine. That isn't the problem and you know it," Tiffany says calmly. "But you've got a whole summer ahead of you to worry about things like that. You've got all of high school to worry about things like that. College, too. Right now, you'd do better to eat your breakfast and enjoy the circus while it's here."

"I thought the clown said he was staying," Beverly says quietly.

The idea of the clown leaving... it bothered her. It bothered her to no end and she wasn't exactly sure as to why that was. Maybe it was because he was one of the few good guys left in this craphole of a town.

"It's hard to say," Tiffany admits. "Remember, he's finding better places for all of those animals he's got. He's a good guy like that."

"Yeah..." Beverly says, sniffling. "So... how about you? What are you two going to do?"

"No idea," Tiffany admits. "I mean, for the longest time I thought I was going to get married, settle down somewhere nice and start a family." She scoffs and whispers; "What the hell was I thinking?"

"I'm sorry..."

"No, it's fine," Tiffany says. "Plenty of fish out in the sea, I guess," she says, humming in a way that makes Beverly think she doesn't believe her own words. She looks over to Pamela, who is frowning at her own plate.

"What about you?" she can't help but ask.

"I was married once," Pamela says quietly. "Elias... he was a lot like your father, Beverly. Oh, yes. He was not a good man, Elias. He... He didn't care for his little boy. Our son. All because he looked a little bit different than most children." She scowls. "Ran off with some tramp from another town. Kimble or other. Last I heard, he died. I say good riddance. He preferred fists over words, of course."

"Oh... I'm... I'm so sorry..." Beverly says, her eyes wide.

"I'm not," Pamela says, somewhat darkly. She smiles at her, however. "Life is better without men like that, Beverly. Men like that don't just suddenly wake up one day and realize the errors of their ways. Oh, that would take quite the miracle for something like that to happen. Especially in your father's case. On the off and very rare chance something like that does happen, good luck to whomever. For those unlucky enough not to find that chance, I only hope they eventually realize that the world is better off without people like that. Man or woman."

"Yeah..." Beverly says, offering her another smile. "What's your son like?"

Her eyes widen when Pamela's face falls.

"Oh... I didn't mean..."

"I know," Pamela says, smiling slightly. "My Jason is in a better place. The clown told me as much, so it must be so."

"Oh," is all she can say.

Pamela's eyes light up when she spots the torn sleeve of Beverly's dress.

"I can fix that for you, dear," she says, taking it from her. She clicks her tongue. "I... I don't usually condone the idea of violence but... if a boy is willing to hit someone while they're holding two little babies, and even smack back at a girl... well, I think you'll be alright. Why don't I teach you sewing while we wait for your little poet?"

Beverly beams.

**********

Ben sighs as he pushes his bike towards Neibolt, not having the heart to get on it and ride it, and he props it up against the porch, hoping against hope that nobody steals it. His stomach is doing nervous flips and twists, his innards seemingly trying to tie themselves into sailor knots, his legs like jelly and his feet like lead, his hands clammy and cold, as he walks up to the house. He almost feels as though he's walking to his own death instead of hopefully to the arms of the girl he likes. Really likes. A lot. A whole lot.

He has a feeling, a mere hunch, that Beverly would have run here. Two other possibilities are the quarry and the clubhouse, though Ben doubted both of them were the case. He sighs as he goes in, his head hung low as he carries his doll. He also has the upsetting feeling that Mr. Marsh might've tossed the postcard into the garbage, or, more likely, ripped it up. He doesn't blame Mr. Marsh, and he isn't mad, not one but, but he really does wish Mr. Marsh hadn't hit Beverly over it...

Especially when it was Ben's fault, not hers.

Ben had seen the huge red mark in the shape of a handprint, definitely a man's hand, on her cheek as she had ran past him, but he knows its his own fault, not at all Beverly's, for being so secretive about it...

... all he had wanted was to write her a nice poem...

... he didn't mean for...

... _that_...

... to happen.

He sniffles and sighs as he gazes around the interior of the house, staring curiously. He doesn't see anyone else. Not even the clown or the two little girls or any of the employees or even any of the animals. Not even a dog. There isn't a sound in the house except for his own thumping footsteps and the squeaking of the door as it shuts. He sighs once more and groans, feeling stupider and stupider by the minute, pressing his back against the door as he rhythmically smacks the back of his head against it.

 _Blew it_. _Blew it_. _Blew it_. _Blew it_.

He doesn't regret writing the poem and he doesn't regret giving it to Beverly, he only regrets that he went about it so stupidly and that it had caused a problem between her and her dad... and most importantly, her getting hurt... that was the worst of it... He doesn't really regret taking Henry's advice, because he's pretty sure he made sure Mr. Marsh no longer hated his guts, but still.

How weird that the best advice ever came from the worst person it could be coming from.

His eyes sting and water.

It is still beyond him as to why Henry Bowers of all people would suddenly have a change of heart, especially after what he did to Ben and Beverly. It is beyond him why Henry would actually ever consider apologizing to Beverly about the rumors. Ben doesn't think that an apology, even a genuine one, would really change matters and restore Beverly's reputation, not where the people of Derry were concerned, and he personally doesn't think that Bowers really deserves Beverly's forgiveness, but he supposes that if Henry was really, actually, honestly trying, then maybe it was worth something after all.

Though, he wonders now if Georgie really did say something to Henry... after the rock fight.

He guesses that Georgie must be really brave or really stupid for that to be the case. He guesses it's the former. He wonders then that if Georgie hadn't been with them that day, for whatever reason, when they had met Mike and had the rock fight, if Bowers would still be a selfish, borderline psychotic, piece of crap who didn't give a damn about anybody but himself, with no regrets about what he did to Ben and Beverly whatsoever.

He sighs again as he heads for the kitchen, wondering if someone might be there to tell him if Beverly is here. Someone is in the kitchen, but it's not Beverly and it's not the clown or any of the little people running the stands, and it's definitely not any of the animals.

It's a woman. A pretty -- no, beautiful -- woman that makes Ben stop in his tracks. He stills, blinking almost stupidly in his shock, at the sight of her. She looks so _cool_. She has paler skin and her eyes are a deep brown, quite rich like chocolate, but Ben is certain they they flashed green when she looked towards him. Her pale blonde hair is tied up into a messy bun, her bangs sharp and curled at the ends. She has a beauty mark on the right side of her upper lip, with perfectly penciled eyebrows, and black lipstick to match. The mascara and smoky eye shadow definitely make her eyes pop like firecrackers.

She's wearing all black. A spandex dress with no sleeves that stopped just above her knees, with a black leather jacket with long sleeves. She reminds him almost of Catwoman. She wore a gold necklace with the name "Tiff" dangling at the end of it, the metal resting on her bosom (not that Ben was looking!) and he saw the tattoo just above her cleavage on the right side (he still wasn't looking!) of a heart with a dagger in it, the name Chucky just above it in black ink. On her legs are black tights, decorated with a diamond shaped pattern, and on her feet were shiny black heels. Her nails were painted black, a nail file in one hand and a cigarette between her lips.

In Ben's mind, she's beautiful in the scariest sort of way, but so totally _cool_.

She smirks slightly as she takes hold of her cigarette with her index finger and her middle finger.

"Staring is considered quite rude, you know," she says suddenly, not even looking at him as she lights her cigarette.

Her voice is sweet and smooth, rich and silky. Almost like honey. It makes his knees feel weak.

His cheeks grow warm.

"Oh... uh... sorry..." he says quickly. "Um... I'm just gonna..."

And yet he can't stop staring no matter how hard he tries. He had never seen a woman dressed like her in Derry before, though he had only been here for a short time. She reminded him almost of a viper, lovely to look (from a distance as Eddie would say) at but deadly on the inside. In a complimentary sort of way. Beautiful, and dangerous. "Do... do you know if Beverly's here?"

"She ran in a while ago," the woman says, tapping her nail file against her knuckles. "She's with Pamela right now, fixing that sleeve of hers."

"Oh, okay... thanks..." Ben says quickly, swallowing nervously. "Um... who're you?"

The woman just smiles, her eyes glittering. He's certain they sparkle green amidst the brown, like brightly colored moss on an oak... Her smile is snakelike, calculating. He can see she's amused by him.

"Tiffany," she says, crossing one leg over the other, swaying her foot from side to side. "You must be Ben. I've heard lots of things about you."

He frowns, his face flushing.

Her smile widens.

"Good things, though, don't worry," she adds, grinning at the darkening of his cheeks. "Well, aside from that little part about a morning poem gone wrong. That, and Henry Bowers."

"Oh..."

His eyes lower, his cut stinging.

"Is it healing? Your cut?"

"A little, yeah..." he says quietly.

"That's good," she says, looking him up and down as she takes a long drag of her cigarette. His nose crinkles at the smell. She exhales, a thick cloud smoke passing her painted lips. "Frankly, you don't seem that fat to me. A little chubby but you seem nice enough. Honestly though, nobody deserves to get cut just for being a bit chunky."

"I can't argue with that," Ben thinks glumly. "Does everyone know then?"

"The clown knows a lot of things," Tiffany admits. "He knows what happened on the bridge."

"Can't say the same for the people who drove right past us when he did it," Ben says bitterly. "They even turned up the radio."

"Was there a balloon in the backseat?" Tiffany asks, faintly curious.

She knew the clown had not been influencing the town anymore, so that honestly meant --

"No, should there have been?" Ben asks, frowning.

"I dunno, just a question," Tiffany says, scoffing. "So, you're telling me somebody just drove right past you? Didn't even help?"

"Didn't even look," Ben says.

Her face contorts into a look of disgust.

"Ugh," she says, shaking her head. She smiles, however. "I heard you like haiku, though."

He looks away, embarrassed.

"I think it's rather sweet," Tiffany says. "Nobody's ever written me a poem before. You must be a sweet one or you must really like Beverly. Or is it a little bit of both?"

He shrugs, feeling shy. He isn't sure why he's talking to a stranger about it, but it seems a whole lot better than bottling it up. Plus, if she knew about it already, what was the harm in it?

"I do... she, uh, she signed my yearbook. She was the only one that did... I really do like her," he admits.

Tiffany stares at him, seeing his insecurities bubbling to the surface.

"But you don't think she could ever like you back, do you?" she asks, knowingly. "Because you're bigger than she is? And not in muscle tone?"

"Yeah..." Ben says, self conscious.

"You must not know her that well if you think that's the case," Tiffany says. "I know insecurities can be horrible."

"I, uh, I find that kind of hard to believe."

"Oh?" she asks, tilting her cigarette between her fingers.

"Well, you, you're beautiful. You look like you slit somebody's throat with that nail file of yours and you'd still be beautiful doing it," Ben says.

She smiles, honestly flattered, if not pleasantly amused. Her smile is sweet, like sugar, but Ben can see there's a hidden spice underneath. She really does remind him of a serpent, if a serpent could smile such a smile.

"Beautiful girls don't go for the fat kid," he says miserably. "She likes Bill..."

"C'mon, sure they do. And no way does she like Bill over you," Tiffany says, still smiling, though it's much more sweet than spicy now. "Haven't you ever seen _Who Framed Roger Rabbit_? Jessica loved Roger because he didn't care how she looked. And she was the beautiful one. She loved him because he made her laugh. A woman likes a man who can make her laugh."

Ben frowns, unsure if he should feel insulted or not.

"Are you comparing me to a wacky cartoon rabbit?" he asks.

"You get my point," she says, her smile widening. "You're a good one. Treat her right."

"Pardon?" he asks.

"Treat her right," she repeats, still smiling. "Never take her for granted." She chuckles. "You're both so young. You're both dorks, really. First loves. Or what you think is first love, during a sweet summer time of adolescence. It's like the perfect script to a cheesy ass romance story," she says, smiling wistfully. "It's like my mother always used to say; A woman spends all day slaving over a hot stove for a man the least he can do is the dishes." She says, smiling almost sadly. She sometimes does miss her mother. "She was kind of a philosopher, my mother."

"She sounds like a smart woman to me," Ben says honestly.

Tiffany's smile widens.

"Yeah," she says, chuckling.

He quirks his lips.

"So... uh... do you work for the circus?" he can't help but ask.

"No, the clown was nice enough to offer hospitality after a really shitty situation," Tiffany admits. It was technically the truth. God, things were so weird and different now. "He's sweet like that. In his own weird way."

"Oh, okay... uh... can... can I ask you something?" Ben asks shyly.

He isn't sure who else he can ask, but Tiffany was clearly a smart woman...

She smiles.

"You just did, sweetface."

He stares, unamused. She laughs slightly.

"Go on then," she says before taking another puff of her cigarette.

He sighs, hesitating. He isn't exactly sure what it is that makes him ask, maybe it is because he doesn't have anyone else he can ask, at the moment, and it's not like he could just go home and suddenly start asking his mom questions about girls, and if Tiffany knew about what happened...

"Um... I kinda... well, you know what happened with the poem... Um... I kinda, told her dad what happened," Ben fesses. "I mean, he seemed like he wanted to punch me in the face at first but he didn't. I... I'm going to tell her, obviously, but... I don't know if she'll hate me for it... for taking that step without asking or... you know."

She blinks, surprised.

"Huh," is all she says.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" he asks.

"Let me ask you this; did you grow that big a pair yourself or did someone help you do it?" she frowns. "Was it the clown?"

"Uh, no..." Ben rubs his arm awkwardly.

"Ben..." she says, her voice warning.

"It was the worst guy to be taking advice from, ever," Ben admits. "But it was good advice, I think."

"Ben, who was it?" she presses, though she thinks she already knows.

His voice comes out soft and shy, almost scared. Skittish, like a fawn.

"Henry."

Her eyes widen, her lips curving downwards.

"You took advice from that kid?"

"Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time and... well, I know, he was outside her apartment but it was good advice... I think... I know Henry is the worst person to be taking advice from, especially concerning Beverly, but he's actually apologized for what he did to me. I mean, I don't care about that, I care about Beverly, but... Henry told me to go and tell her dad what happened. He told me not to mess things up like he did. I wasn't trying to go behind her back or anything it just sorta happened."

"Huh."

She scoffs again, but it isn't directed at Ben.

"And do you know why he spread those rumors about her?" she asks.

"Uh, no... I mean, I know she was in a play with Bill in third grade and there was some kind of kiss but..."

"Now, I get it," she says. "Little prick was jealous over some play so he spread bullshit about her. I wonder what on earth could have made little Henry's heart grow three times bigger."

"Georgie."

She glances back at him, surprised. He's looking down at his hands.

"When, when we met Mike, he was getting bullied by Henry. In the Barrens. We had a fight. A rock fight. We were rolling rocks at each other."

"I know what a rock fight is, Ben," she says.

"Right... well... Georgie kinda got left behind, a little. He took longer than the rest of us. He was way behind and... he was always talking about how Henry needed better friends... I think he might've said something and Henry might actually be trying to grow up," Ben says.

Tiffany frowns slightly.

Georgie was supposed to die, she knows. Back in October, but the clown couldn't do it. His hunger hadn't even won that battle. She knew Georgie was supposed to be the first missing kid of this year. She knows that, just as she knows the clown hadn't done it. The clown couldn't do it, and even now, he wouldn't.

"What are the chances, huh?" Ben asks, smiling awkwardly.

"Cosmic," she says, smiling slightly. "But I suppose, back to her father, you've got a lot of guts, haven't you? I suppose if her dad isn't angry anymore, then you haven't anything to be afraid of. I imagine she would be more upset if you kept it a secret from her and she ended up having to find out from her father instead of you. If anything, she'll probably be more disturbed at the fact that Henry of all people was outside of her apartment, whether or not it was to apologize. Of course, it's beyond me why you would take his advice, even if it was good in this situation."

"Yeah..."

She smiles, sly but sweet, an idea popping into her mind. She, like the clown, could play matchmaker when she wanted to.

"Well, I'd say it's time for you to make it even," she says. "It's her turn to meet the parents."

Ben blinks with surprise.

"You know, bring her home to your parents," she says, gauging his reaction. "You know, your mom? Your dad?"

"My dad... he died a long time ago," Ben says. "It's just me and my mom..."

"Well, introduce her to your mother then," she says, giving him a look. "You do want to, don't you?"

"Well, yeah, of course, I do," Ben says sincerely, surprising even her. "I just hadn't thought of that. I just don't know if Beverly would actually want to..."

Tiffany just chuckles.

"Sweetface, if anything, she would love to meet your mother. I mean, take it from me, meeting the parents can either go really, really good or really, really bad. My mother, she was horrified when I introduced her to Chucky, not that he really wanted to meet her anyway. My sister thought it was hysterical. Both called him street filth, of course." She stares inquisitively at him. "Does your mother know about the rumors?"

"I don't think so, but my mom isn't dumb enough to believe them, either," Ben says.

"Well, that's good but you are only 13, aren't you?" she asks, the question still rhetorical. "There are going to be other chances for young love, you know, being a dork in love, and there are plenty of other girls out there. I mean, where do you see yourself say... 27 years from now?"

Ben frowns, not liking what she was saying.

Where did he see himself 27 years from now?

"Well, maybe I'd go into architecture," Ben says quietly. "But...

"But what?"

"None of those... other girls... would be Beverly Marsh... and 27 years from now... I would like to think..."

Her lips twitch and she smiles. All sugar, no spice.

"She's a lucky girl, Beverly Marsh," she says sweetly. "Run along now. I hear one of the dogs gave birth last night. Maybe the clown will give away the puppies when they're ready to go."

"Oh... cool..." Ben says, having always wanted a dog of his own but he knew his mom couldn't afford it. "Which one?"

"I don't know. I'm not fond of the animals. All I know is there's six of them and only one's the bitch."

"Oh."

He smiles.

"Thanks."

She watches him leave, hears the back door open, and smiles. She recognized that smile on his face. That of a dork.

In love.

She smiles, wistfully.

Ben heads out the back door, seeing all of the tents set up as well as the food stands, a few of the little people running them. He can see Bill and the clown as well as Georgie and a girl who he thinks is named Cheryl Lamonica all together in one of the tents, the flap lifted up, and he can see a bunch of animals inside, including the dogs. He doesn't go that way, however, because he doesn't see Beverly with them.

He walks around the circus, alone, unaware of the golden amber eyes staring playfully at him as they follow him. He heads farther out, seeing that Neibolt's backyard really was huge. He realizes then that it stretches farther out than expected.

He's about to go further, quite possibly into the neighboring backyard, when he stops in his tracks, sensing something was behind him. He frowns, slowly turning around as the hairs on the back of his neck prickle and stand. His eyes widen with shock at the sight of a jaguar staring intently at him. He should realize that she isn't at all aggressive because her claws are sheathed and her incisors aren't bared. He sees the blue floral necklace around her neck and swallows thickly. She seemingly smiles at him as she approaches.

She's beautiful, he thinks. It's almost like magic, seeing a wild animal like this, even if the circus had tamed her, though the clown made it abundantly clear that not a single animal in this circus was tamed and Eddie was a constant reminder about that fact, and her golden eyes seemingly glint like twin suns as she looks up at him.

Slender and lithe, graceful in her steps. Yet not at all like a predator stalking its prey.

She sniffs at his hand, which he keeps firmly at his side lest he somehow anger her because he's all alone, and she pushes her forehead against the palm of his hand. He lets out a shaky gasp, a breathless laugh, wondering if this was how Bill had felt when the clown had showed him the tiger.

She grabs hold of his hand with her mouth, her teeth grazing his skin but not breaking it, though her incisors do take hold of the sleeve of his jacket, and he realizes she's pulling him. She isn't mauling him, she isn't chasing after him, playful or not, and she certainly isn't jumping on him like Vitaly did to Georgie yesterday, but she's pulling him away. She pulls him throughout the circus until she settles at the ring toss game.

"What're you --" Ben asks as she sits down, curling her tail around her legs and she seemingly smiles up at him, though he realizes he'd probably look like an idiot for talking to a jaguar was though it could talk back, and then he gets it.

"Ben?"

Gia's smile widens as Beverly approaches, a wide grin on her face at the sight of him, though even she can sense Beverly's hesitance.

"Hey!"

Beverly runs towards him, almost dropping her doll, as she runs up and hugs him, almost knocking the both of them over. She grins at him and he smiles right back, his heart fluttering in his chest.

"Hey..." he says, shy and awkward.

Both are unaware of their audience.

Henry watches them with an envious look on his face, but there is a hint of acceptance as well as guilt. Henry sighs as Ben hugs her back, the girl smiling warmly. He guesses too that the jaguar must be good at judging people...

"Treat her right, Ben," Henry mutters gloomily to himself before walking away.

Beverly lets go of him and yet Ben's smile widens. Butterflies tickle him as he stares into her bright blue eyes, he's beyond relieved to see that the handprint has faded away. He figures then that it would be better to just rip the bandaid off.

"You... you okay?"

She just shrugs.

"I've... I've been better," she admits. Of course, she plans on taking the "secret" of what happened in the clown's trailer to her grave if she can. "Are you okay?"

Ben frowns.

"I'm not the one that got... hurt," he says quietly. Her eyes lower at his choice of words. "I'm... I'm sorry... about all that..."

She frowns.

"Hey, that wasn't your fault. It was mine --"

"No, it wasn't," Ben says, not meaning to cut her off but he doesn't want her to think that any of that was her fault. "Nothing about that was your fault. It was mine. I shouldn't have... well, I knew you didn't want your dad to see me so I should have waited or shouldn't have been so secretive about it... I, uh, that one's definitely on me."

She stares at him with surprise before sighing. She finds it strange if not the sweetest thing that Ben would take the blame like that since most of the time, everything seemed to somehow be Beverly's fault.

"It's okay," Beverly says, smiling again. "You were trying to be sweet and creative. It wasn't your fault it didn't go as... planned."

"It kind of was."

"I, uh, I see you met the jaguar before I did," Beverly says, smiling awkwardly as she stares down at it.

She tilts her head, a catlike, curious thing. Gia does the same, tilting her head the very same way. Ben even stares at them, a faintly bemused expression on his face. It's astounding how much the jaguar actually reminds him of Beverly. And for her, looking into Gia's eyes now, was as though she was staring at a reflection of her own soul.

The jaguar pushes her head into Beverly's stomach, accepting the shaky touch that comes with it.

"OhmyGod," Beverly says, smiling with disbelief. "Is this how Bill --"

"Probably, yeah," Ben says quietly, smiling at the sight.

His smile is genuine but his heart begins to pound with fear. He's afraid that she'll become angry with him even though his intention hadn't really been to go behind her back, he had only wanted to clear things up with her dad. Henry had been the only one around and most shockingly, his advice had been pretty good... and it really wasn't Beverly's fault about the poem... He swallows, though he finds the task difficult. "I, uh, I, um..."

He can't help but chuckle at how both the girl and the jaguar turn towards him, curiosity sparkling in both blue and gold depths. Mirrored expressions.

"I, may or may not have, taken the heat... just, just so you know..."

She frowns again.

"What do you mean?"

"I, uh, well, you know that I saw what happened outside and after your dad went back into your building..." Ben says, gong for honest. "Henry was there. Outside your apartment."

Beverly's stomach plummets, her lips parting and her eyes widening. First with shock, then with horror.

"Henry was at my apartment?" she asks, almost whispering, first frightened and then angry. Her eyes widen further, anger pooling in them. Not at Ben, however, who she frantically looks up and down as though searching for some kind of injury. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

"What? Oh, no, no, no, I'm fine... well, mostly fine, but no, he didn't do anything..." Ben says quickly, somewhat flattered that she would ask. "He, uh, he also saw what happened."

Her breath shakes, humiliation coursing through her veins. Gia stares up at her, sympathetic.

"Nothing, nothing happened. Your dad didn't even know he was there. No, he said he wanted to talk to you."

She stares, stares at him in a way that he makes him afraid.

"What?"

Confusion.

Anger.

Fear.

Upset.

Humilation.

She feels all of those things at once because what the actual hell was Henry doing outside of her apartment building unless he was waiting for her like that day he, Belch, Vic, and Patrick cornered her outside of her apartment building? Why on earth would he even want to talk to her? What the fuck was there even to talk about? That meant then that Henry not only knew about Ben, but knew her dad had a horrible reaction to it...

"What'd he really want?" she asks, trying not to demand answers.

"He... he apologized... for cutting me," Ben admits. "He said, he actually said, that he's working on not being a total..." Ben cuts himself off. He's still not much of the cussing sort. "He's trying not to be a jerk. That's what he said."

Beverly stares at him. She scoffs with sheer, absolute disbelief.

"I find that extremely hard to believe, Ben," she says.

She doesn't believe that he's lying to her, why on earth would he? However, she also sincerely doubts that Henry of all people would honestly want to apologize for what he did to Ben, just as she sincerely doubts that Henry would actually want to talk to her, which implies that he was planning on apologizing to her as well, but what did he have to gain out of apologizing? What was there to apologize about?

"No offense."

"None, none taken," Ben says. "But... what I mean is... about taking the heat. I told your dad what happened."

Her stomach plummets and she gapes, open-mouthed, almost like a fish. Even Gia is staring at him with surprise. It feels like she's seeing Benjamin Hanscom for the first time, and she can't understand what or who exactly it is that she's seeing.

She doesn't understand.

It doesn't compute.

"I told him that I was the one who wrote the haiku on the postcard and I told him that you and I are friends... I even showed him my yearbook page," Ben admits, flinching under the piercing stare she's giving him. Unblinking and stone cold, expressionless, with a hint of insecurity and daresay betrayal. That stung. "The... the one you signed."

"And why would you do that?" she asks, folding her arms over her chest.

"Well, Henry told me to --"

She stares, confused and her anger starts to grow.

"And why the hell would you off all people listen to the advice of Henry Bowers? Of all people?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Ben says, his voice growing high and afraid but he doesn't become defensive.

He knows she has every right to be wary of him but he hadn't anticipated how much it would _hurt_. His fear grows, blooming like a poisonous flower, his _terror_ at the idea that she wouldn't want to be friends with him anymore, that she'll be mad at him, boiling in the pit of his belly, turning every inch of him _cold_.

"I know it was a terrible idea to listen to Henry, I get that, but it was good advice. I mean, your dad didn't rip up my yearbook page, he didn't punch me in the face, and obviously I'm not dead. All he said was that next time he wanted me to just say hello. He said that if I ever did anything without his permission, or force you to do something you don't want to, he'd hunt me down like a dog, and he said that if I ever broke your heart, he'd kill me."

Beverly keeps staring, unable to stop.

It feels _weird_. Beyond weird, beyond incomprehensible. It is beyond her why Ben would listen to Henry of all people, for anything at all, even if his advice sounded good at the time. She can't believe what she's hearing, however. After everything Henry did to them? The both of them? All of the Losers for that matter? Anyone in this town? Ben and Beverly especially?

She might've expected something like that out of Georgie, considering his opinion that Henry needed better friends, but from _Ben_?

"Has your cheese slid off your cracker?" she asks.

"Maybe?" Ben says awkwardly. "I... I wasn't trying to go behind your back or anything... I just... It was my fault that your dad got mad and well, I thought admitting what happened would be better than leaving you to deal with it. I get it, that it was Henry, but... you didn't see him, Bev, he looked honestly guilty."

Beverly wants to be mad. She wants to be mad at Ben but she's finding that hard to do. After all, if it had been anyone else, she might have been because who in their right or even wrong mind would listen to anything Henry Bowers has to say? Even if it was good advice and actually --

"He wasn't mad?" she asks. "My dad?"

"No. No. Not really. He said that he just didn't want to meet your first..." Ben smiles, awkward as he stumbles over his words, "... poetry writer... like that. He seemed okay... And Henry honestly seemed like he wanted forgiveness --"

"He doesn't deserve it," she says. "Not for what he did. To the both of us. He hasn't had to spend every day, every hour, every minute, every second," she says through gritted teeth, her eyes wide with anger, but it isn't directed at Ben, "of his life after third grade without any friends. I remember it, Gretta, before that stupid play with Bill, was nice enough to me and I think she and I might've actually have been good friends and you know what happened. You experienced it firsthand in the pharmacy. She turned into huge bitch. I wasn't even ten yet, Ben. I was a kid. I'm still a kid."

"I know," Ben says quietly, feeling ready to cry. "I... he was just jealous... of Bill... and Gretta was just jealous of you."

She scoffs.

Angrily.

Gia tenses.

"So that's what it was? Jealousy? He was jealous over a stupid little peck in a play I didn't even want to be in so he spreads bullshit rumors about me? _3rd_ grade, Ben! Just because he was jealous? I don't fucking think so! And you know the people of this shithole town believed it! They still do! Do you have any idea what my dad would do if he found out?!"

"No, and I don't want to," Ben says, almost croaking as his lip quivers and the tears start streaming. Beverly recoils, surprised. And then, she feels guilty. "I don't know how it feels, what he did to you, I only got cut --"

" _Only_? Ben, he could have killed you!"

"I know but... Henry doesn't seem like the kind of person to say sorry if he didn't mean it," Ben says, sniffling and wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "But you didn't see him. He looked miserable."

"Good," she spits. "If he feels guilty, then that's exactly what he deserves."

"Yeah, I know... and he's going to live with that for a long time. I'm... I'm not defending him... I just... I just wanted to help... what happened between you and your dad," Ben says quietly, shaking with his tears. He doesn't want to say his next words, but he does anyway; "I get it, that you're mad at me..." he feels sick and nauseous, as though he's about to pass out. "I... please... please just tell me that you don't hate me... that we're still friends, at least..."

She stares.

She frowns.

She feels bad now.

This is the first time that she's ever made another person cry. And the fact that it was Ben...

"I'm sorry..." Beverly says quietly. "That was... overly harsh..."

Ben just sniffles.

"But of course we're still friends, you dumbass," she says. Ben's heart soars with relief. "You're one of the first actual friends I've ever had. I mean... Henry... that's messed up... on so many levels but... you probably helped me out of a really shitty situation and for that... I can't be mad at you... I... I'm not mad, not at you, anyway. I just... I don't see where he gets off actually being sorry for what he did."

Ben's eyes are shining.

"You... so you're really not mad at me? I mean, I would get it, I'd totally get it, if you were, you'd have every right... but... I think your dad... tolerated me enough."

"You haven't had to live with him," Beverly says quietly. "And his crap. And if he found out about the rumors... I don't know how he'd react..."

"Then maybe you should tell him," Ben says. She pierces him with a look. "I mean, it'd be better, coming from you, than anyone else. If he overhears people talking about it, he might get the wrong idea... so... maybe you should..."

"You don't know what it's like..." Beverly says quietly. "I don't know if I can do that, Ben."

"Maybe not... but... no matter what happens, I'd be there for you," Ben says.

She smiles, her heart feeling warm at that.

"I'm sorry for making you cry," she says.

"I'm sorry for taking Henry's advice for just about anything," Ben says. "Good advice or not."

She sighs, smiling slightly.

"Well, I guess you and I got the awkward 'Meet the Parents' moment out of the way, huh?"

She frowns at the shyness that forms on his face, but she can see that he's trying to hold back a hopeful smile.

"Um... well... not all of them..." he says, his heart beating faster and faster.

"Huh?"

"I mean, I met your dad, right? So... it'd only be fair if you met my mom... right?"

She blinks.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

Shocked.

"You want _me_ to _meet_... your _mom_?"

She frowns with absolute shock, sheer disbelief. She... she's never had anyone meet her father before. Boy friends or girl friends. She never had any friends, boys or girls, and she definitely wouldn't have any boys near her dad. At least not before today. Whether purposefully introduced or simply met. Or Ben admitting what happened. She's never... And to think that, despite everything, _Ben_ wants _her_ to meet his _mom_?

That... that makes her... _happy_.

"Well, yeah. I know she'll love you," Ben says, smiling.

He knows that's true.

"But what about the rumors?" Beverly asks, hesitating.

"I don't think she knows about them but even if she does, she's not dumb. I just... I really want you to meet her now," Ben admits. "Tiffany kind of... inspired the idea but I really want you to. I mean, I get it, if you wanna punch me in the face for listening to anything Henry had to say... but I think I made a good first impression."

She smiles, her heart fluttering.

"I think I'd rather punch Henry than you," she says. She grins as she pulls the silver knuckles out of her pocket. "I'll even save these just for the occasion."

"Where'd you get those?" Ben asks, surprised, almost paling at the sight of them.

"I feel like Chucky had this planned," Beverly says, smiling.

"Uh, who?"

"I'll tell you later. But... you're either the bravest son of a bitch I've ever met or the dumbest, Ben from soc."

"It was my fault anyway," Ben says. "I'd like to think it was bravery, not stupidity. And... I would understand, too, if you didn't trust me for a while... if you need time before you can... but as long as we're still friends, I'm good with that."

Beverly just smiles.

"I don't know. I still like you. You're still my dork. I think I'm going to save these just for Henry," she admits. "I get why you did it. I just don't understand why Henry would have a change of heart... even if Georgie probably said something to him at the Barrens after the rock fight..."

"I guess Georgie brings out the best in people," Ben says, also smiling.

"Guess so," Beverly says. She stares down at the jaguar, which has been watching them this whole time. "Where'd she come from?"

"Oh, she pulled me over here. I think... I think she knew..."

"Well, animals and kids are excellent judges of character," Beverly says, smiling as Gia nuzzles Ben's hand with her head.

Both miss Gia smiling.

**********

"I mean, it is so not fucking safe to have wild animals roaming around freely! The piglet, the horses, the sheep, those are simple farm animals! That's one thing but even piglets can be so dirty! I mean, can you even imagine all of the diseases we could get from that thing alone? Just because he named it Carrie and loves it very much does not mean he gains points! And, oh, there's no fucking way that stallion is normal! And neither is that fucking tiger! And a tiger? A _tiger_? Uncaged? Not even sedated while Bill was with it? I suppose he got a moment like Reba McClane from _Manhunter_! Next I suppose Georgie will be square dancing with the lion! Oh, oh, and not only that, but a lion? A lion and a tiger and a freaking bear? This isn't _The Wizard of Oz_ , asshole! And jaguars, too? Don't even get me started on that roller coaster --"

"Hey, uh uh, you stay away from the roller caster, that thing is awesome," Stan butts, in his voice sharp and unhappy, interrupting Eddie's angry ranting. "And even though all you've done is complain about it, you're still going back!"

"Yeah? So? Somebody has to keep all of you from getting hurt or killed!"

"Oh, yeah, right, like you could take on a 500 pound tiger with those skinny chicken legs!" Stan retorts.

"Shut up, we all know you just want to spend more time with the hot chick!"

"She's not _hot_ , Eddie, she's fucking beautiful!"

"What the fuck ever! This clown is fucking nuts! The tiger bites him, almost fatally, and he not only lets it live but keeps it in his circus without a trainer? Without any protection details? Around _children_? I don't give a shit about Bowers but still! We get hurt, that fucker is liable! I don't care how hot he is or about the fact that Bill likes him! I know moony eyes when I see them!"

 _No_ , _you don't_ , Richie thinks with a shake of his head. Or, at the very least, Eddie didn't know moony eyes when Richie was giving them to him.

"I mean, for God's sakes, that thing pounced Georgie! And how do you turn a ferocious man eating beast of nature into a cuddly kitten anyhow? Why is this guy not in trouble for all this shit? And why does he have so many fair rides anyway? It's more like a fair than it is a circus! How does he even fit everything into Neibolt's backyard? I mean, I know it's big, but there's just no way that's normal! And why are the piranhas so fucking big? Who even has piranhas anyway? What? Is it all just smoke and mirrors? Does he find annoying me funny? Why are none of you asking the serious questions?"

Richie rolls his eyes. So does Mike. Stan as well. The four of them had met up together on the way to the circus. Nonstop, since he obtained an audience, Eddie's ranting had increased in volume. He had already been muttering angrily to himself, silently cursing under his breath and cursing the clown for "being so hot" and for "having wild animals roaming around like house pets" and for making Bill have "moony eyes" and all sorts of other things. Richie found it humorous that Eddie was complaining about the dangers of the animals even though he hadn't gone anywhere near them. Not even the tiger. Not really.

Stan, Richie could tell, had the moony eyes for the "not hot but beautiful" girl that ran the roller coaster. He doesn't care, personally, and instead he likes the free food and the comic books and he had been eying the D&D game he knows he saw after the clown had pulled down the giant ass sea turtle for Georgie. Of course, Richie's dad was still pissed that he had to order _another_ pair of glasses (his last pair had been broken by Bowers just a couple of weeks ago) but still.

He's about to ask a serious question, probably something offensive if not dirty about the clown, but he forgets what it was as soon as he spots a very familiar looking woman on Neibolt's front lawn, just by the house, digging a trowel into the dirt, with an almost blank expression on her face and yet he freezes in his tracks.

Almost comically, Mike unintentionally walks into him, causing a chain reaction. Eddie accidentally walks into Mike, too busy ranting to actually pay attention, and Stan walks into Eddie. Richie and Mike both fall to the ground, Stan quickly tumbling after with a loud, high pitched, almost girly yelp, and Eddie stares angrily down at all of them.

"Oh, good going fucknut!" Eddie snaps. "Do you have any idea how infectious even just a scrape from the street could be? Or even just the sidewalk? These are the kinds of serious questions that all of you need to be asking!"

"I have a serious question," Richie says from his spot underneath Mike, his face smushed against the gravel of the street. "Why is Jason Voorhee's mother tending a garden in the front yard.

Three voices, each one as confused as the last, though Mike's is the most confused, simultaneously ask;

"What?"

Richie just points up at Neibolt and the other three look to see the woman in question staring at them with a surprised expression. Eddie helps Stan stand and Mike stands up as well, the two of them awkwardly brushing themselves off as Eddie brushes off Stan, who smacks at him angrily. Richie stands, turning his back on Neibolt, unaware that they had an audience.

"I'm sure... she just looks a lot... like her," Stan says, his voice cracking with his disbelief.

"Uh, I also have a question," Mike says, looking incredibly awkward if not embarrassed. "Who's Jason Voorhees?"

Almost comically, Stan, Eddie, and Richie turn their heads towards him, disbelief and shock written all over their faces. Richie has still yet to realize they have an audience to stare curiously at them, and they're close enough that she can hear everything they're saying.

"Dude," Eddie begins, disbelief and confusion clear as crystal in his eyes, "you've never seen _Friday the 13th_? Even the first one? With Betsy Palmer and Kevin Bacon?"

Shocked.

Surprised.

Astounded.

Floored.

Flabberghasted.

Any one of those words would describe how all three boys are currently feeling. Richie had practically forced the Losers, back when it was just him, Stan, Eddie, and Bill, to watch it with him and Eddie remembers having nightmares for about a month. His mom had been pissed at Richie.

"Uh, no," Mike says, sheepishly. "My grandfather doesn't believe in television... just radios... so, no movies for this guy..."

Stan and Eddie frown and shake it off. Maybe they can have a horror movie marathon in that case, though at who's house, none of them have a clue. Obviously not Mike's. They glance back towards the house, both stilling awkwardly when they realize that the woman is still staring at them, now with narrowed eyes, clearly gauging what they're all about to say and do. Richie, of course, having no filter, blissfully unaware of their audience, makes matters _worse_.

"Dude, _Friday the 13th_ isn't just a movie!" Richie says unhappily. Loudly. "It's the perfect horror movie! You have no idea who the hell the killer is until the end of it! All of those shitty sequels completely ruined the franchise! I mean, Pamela over Jason any day, dude!"

"Uh, Richie --" Stan starts, his voice high and breaking, the boy mostly trying to prevent Richie from saying something incredibly stupid and quite possibly offensive.

"Not now, Stanley!" Richie says. "I mean, Jason freaking Voorhees as a hermit? A hermit? Talk about shitty writing! I mean, say it was some demonic or supernatural shit like in _Pumpkinhead_ or or _Hellraiser_ or even some _Evil Dead_ shit or _A Nightmare on Elm Street_ or some _Child's Play_ crap! I don't know! And I thought Freddy Krueger's sequels sucked ass! Do you have any idea how you could totally trick somebody big time with that? Ask them who's the killer in Friday the 13th and the dumb motherfucker would say Jason, not his mother!"

"Richie..." Eddie says quickly, his eyes wide with genuine fear, as he swallows nerovusly.

"Not _now_ , Eddie!" Richie snaps. "The kills, the music, the grieving nutjob of a mother, all of it was perfect! I mean, obviously you haven't seen _Part 6_. What a bunch of bull! Oh, and don't even get me fucking started on _Part 5_! That didn't even have anything to do with Jason or his psychopath mom! And who the hell got a close up like that of Jason without getting brutally murdered anyway? Can you believe they're releasing another shitty sequel this July? Oh, he's going to be in Manhattan, now! He's not in Crystal Lake anymore, Toto! He lost the lame mama's boy flare after _Part 2_ , dude!"

"Richie!" all three other boys snap.

"What?" Richie snaps right back. "That's how you ruin a perfectly good horror movie! With shitty sequels! Yeah, I'm going to see it just so I can complain about it. If Eddie gets to, so do I! Next I suppose you'll say that the real Pamela Voorhees is right behind me?"

Eddie whimpers, barely resisting the urge to point and nod, while Stan slowly inches away. Richie jumps at the sound of something being pierced. Almost like a knife being plunged into flesh. Only, it's a trowel being plunged into dirt. Mike flinches as the woman stabs her trowel into the dirt, and upset look on her face as Richie hesitantly turns around.

"A young boy shouldn't have such a foul mouth," the woman says and it's uncanny how much she honestly sounds like the actual woman, though actress or character, the three of them aren't sure. Mike honestly just feels bad right now, because he's pretty sure Richie hit somewhere close to home. Richie swallows as his stomach drops. She's staring at him, frowning. Mike is the only one that can see how her eyes have gone soft, misty. "You ought to be grateful I don't make you eat soap."

"I'm sorry," Richie says quickly, uncharacteristically, because he's scared fucking shitless right now.

Even without his glasses, he can see she's pissed off.

"Hi..." Mike greets shyly.

"Um..." Stan says quickly, swallowing as he inches away from the house. "Has anyone told you that you look a lot like --"

"Yes," the woman says, almost snappishly. Each one jumps. "The clown warned me about that," she says, her lips quivering. Mike grits his teeth, a guilty look on his face, as he sees the glassiness of her eyes. "Go on in then. One of the clown's dogs had puppies last night."

Mike's eyes light up, the boy fondly remembering...

Mr. Chips.

That had been his dad's old dog.

"Okay," Eddie says quickly, almost snatching Richie's hand and practically running to the house, though it's clear he wants to run the other way. He avoids all eye contact with the woman, Richie as well.

Stan quickly follows, nearly tripping over his own two feet, while Mike stays behind, approaching the woman rather than the house. He stares at her almost curiously. She reminds him of somebody, certainly not "nutjob" or "psychopath" Richie had been describing, as he really hasn't ever seen _Friday the 13th_ before, and now he doesn't really think he wants to, but... he's seen that look in her eyes before.

A look of sadness and misery, loneliness and longing unlike any other, and he could tell without asking, without knowing this woman personally, that she was trying to distract herself from whatever it was making her sad by planting the seeds in her hands into the earth, by planting a garden... something to take care of... Just, something to keep her mind occupied...

Who does that remind him of?

"Hi..." Mike says softly as he approaches, the only one brave enough to do so. Or perhaps, he's the only one kind hearted enough, "... you okay?"

The woman glances at him as she pours the seeds into her hand, the clown having been nice enough to let her start a little garden out front, though he did warn her that she would be easily recognized and that something like this could happen. She guesses then that the foul mouthed hooligan was Richie Tozier. And if that was his reaction, she didn't want to meet Henry Bowers.

Of course, Richie Tozier had no idea that Pamela had honestly tried each and every one of those magical objects to try and bring back her little boy. He had no idea and it would stay that way. It was to be kept between her and the clown. That was that.

"A young boy shouldn't have such a foul mouth," she says. "And hearing him talk so poorly about those films wasn't quite... helpful."

"Do... do you like those films, then?" Mike asks curiously.

He grimaces when her expression darkens.

"Oh, absolutely not," she says scathingly. "I think they're garbage films that should never have been made. Those sequels, as he put it. The first one... that one just... it hits too close to home, for me..."

"Oh..."

Mike continues to stare and he feels bad because he knows it's rude...

"I take I remind you of Betsy Palmer then?" she asks dryly.

"No, no... I've never seen those movies... no, you remind me of --"

He stops himself, frowning as he finally remembers where he's seen that look in her eyes before and understands what she meant. He's seen that look on his grandfather's face. He was a young boy, younger than now, just after the fire on Harrsion Ave. that took his parents' lives... he remembers walking into his grandfather's living room, seeing the older man sitting in his chair, by the fireplace, staring at old family albums with a sad look on his face.

He doesn't remember ever seeing his grandfather cry before, except for then after the deaths of William and Jessica Hanlon. He doesn't know that Leroy Hanlon has only ever cried a total of five times in his life.

He remembers having caught glimpses of the pictures in the album. Pictures of himself, when he was even younger than that, as a baby and a toddler, along with photographs of Mike's parents, William and Jessica. Their wedding day, the day Mike was born, and even some from when his dad was a boy. He even remembers his grandfather picking him up and showing him all the photos. It had made him long for his parents even more, though he knew that hadn't been his grandfather's intention.

He even remembers the photograph of his dad and Mr. Chips, when the dog had been a puppy, a gift from his grandfather to his father. Some of the photographs had even been of his grandmother as well, Shirley Hanlon, though Mike didn't remember her at all, and sometimes, Mike had seen the same look in his grandfather's eyes when he spoke of his son.

He understands then.

And figures out the plot to _Friday the 13th_ pretty easily.

"I'm sorry," Mike says quietly. "For... for your loss."

Pamela stops wiping at her eyes for a moment, faintly surprised.

"You know, other than the clown, a nun, a voodoo witch doctor, and that Valentine woman, you're the first person to tell me that," Pamela says softly, smiling an almost watery smile. It was a tearful thing, but there was gratitude in her eyes. "Thank you."

Mike just smiles awkwardly.

"So, uh, you don't like those movies then?" he can't help but ask.

She scoffs.

"Of course not. Those films were absolute trash. If some people like them, good for them, but making him out to be a hermit? Then a supernaturally possessed entity that can't and won't die? A boy that young wouldn't be... the whole point was..." she grins, humorless, teeth bared, but not towards the boy. "He wasn't a very good swimmer. He drowned."

Mike stares. He has a feeling she isn't just talking about the movies...

"I must admit though, he is quite right, about _Part 6_. Jason Voorhees, he was not Frankenstein, and no amount of... rock and roll music can change how terrible that film really was," she says, scoffing. "A garbage film, I say. And a young girl acting like that, associating herself with a boy she thought was a criminal, how ridiculous... that girl's father should've been ashamed of himself for raising her like that. And I quite agree that _Part 8_ is going to be quite stupid. Manhattan..."

"I've... I've never seen them," Mike admits. "Don't really want to now."

"Don't let me stop you," she says, frowning. "But honestly the whole base of that franchise was just... awful. Can you believe those people, the Christys, rehired those same useless counselors to work at that camp? And the first thing they go off to do, a year after murdering that little boy, is go and do the same thing. Make love instead of doing their jobs. The whole point was that a young boy drowned in 1957 and the camp was shut down. it should have stayed shut down, Steve should have never have tried to reopen that place. Or, at the very least, those counselors should not have been allowed back... should not have been..." she clicks her tongue, shaking her head. "It doesn't matter."

"No, no, it does matter," Mike says as he takes a seat next to her, sitting cross legged on the ground. "You don't like those movies, with good reason," though he was certain she was still speaking from personal experience. "Did they really let those same counselors that let him... you know?"

"They did," she says, frowning as she remembers that horrible day.

She had been in the kitchen, cooking lunch for the children. She remembers hearing the raucous laughter of children echoing outside. She thought Jason had been enjoying such a bright, sunny day in the summer of 1957. She thought he was one of the children laughing... she guesses now that their laughter drowned out his screams... that phrase wasn't even intentional...

She hadn't a clue back then that those rotten little monsters were laughing at her boy, at her Jason, and trying to put a _bag_ on his sweet little head... She closes his eyes as she remembers him crying out for her, though she hadn't really been there to hear it, her demented, broken mind conjuring up the horrible images and sounds after she found out what had happened... what _Barry_ and _Claudette_ had allowed to happen...

Her chest constricts, her lips quivering as she scrunches her eyes shut. She hears him, crying out for her, his poor little arms flailing desperately as he tried to keep his head above the water...

 _Help me_! _Help_! _Help_ , _mother_! _Help_! _Help me_ , _mommy_! _Mommy_!

Accidental.

That word felt like something acidic on her tongue. A foul taste she wanted rid of.

They had called it an _accidental_ drowning.

The clown thought himself a monster, she knew, but the real monsters were those little brats who pushed her baby boy into the water and left him to die, laughing merrily all the while... those counselors were the true monsters, who had been off, making love, instead of watching him... He should have been watched, every minute, he was... He wasn't a very good swimmer... Steve should have never have tried to reopened that camp.

Never.

And now, it never would be. Never again. Not for as long as the clown lived.

That thought made her smile despite the pain.

She remembers how Sister Mary Helena, Amanda Krueger, a crossover before even 2003, had told her to have _faith_. To have _faith_ that hers on was in a better place. How could she think that, though? How could she believe something like that when her Jason was taken away from her so horribly? How could she believe that when those counselors, when those children, faced no punishment for what they did? She remembers every great length she had gone to to see her son again, even just for a moment, before what would have been that fateful summer of 1979...

Her hand trails up to her throat, where she knows that Alice had removed her head from her shoulders. To think, this... world... was 10 years ahead of her own... to think that they had made films about that... and ruined the whole thing, as the Tozier boy had said... to think that she would be 59 in this year, rather than 49, the age she would have been upon her death...

She was truly certain that the clown would never truly know how grateful she was that he had ensured, even with his strange abilities, beyond her comprehension, that the camp would never reopen again, that everyone would know her son's story, and not that of an undead freak of nature with a thirst for blood and revenge, but that of a little boy who had drowned because of those counselors, and that the clown would give her a second chance.

A chance to start a new life, but how could she do that, when everyone even here seemed to know her name and what she had done, though most people assumed she simply looked incredibly alike the actress from that film... and when they found out Pamela was honestly her real name, they turned and looked the other way... Some of them even running, like those three boys...

Yet not this one. Though she knew it was only because he had not yet seen those films...

The whole idea of a... Macroverse... was still lost upon her. She knew of the witch and the demon Pumpkinhead who wrought vengeance, though that was the delusional term for cold-blooded revenge, and she knew of life after death, of Damballa, as well as the Lament Configuration, or Lemarchand's Box, and she knew of the Necronomicon Ex-Mortis, all too well, and she had met Sister Mary Helena personally... and yet despite her knowledge of the natural and the supernatural...

Well, she'd be lying if she said the clown hadn't terrified her. More than the book of the evil dead and what it demanded she do.

She sighs and realizes that the boy is giving her a sympathetic look. She realizes then, too, that she has been crying out her regrets and her sorrows this whole time. She quickly wipes her eyes on her sleeves.

"I'm sorry," she says softly. "I must me making you quite uncomfortable."

"No, no, it's okay," Mike says, offering her a smile. "My, uh, my grandfather, Leroy Hanlon, he gets that look a lot."

"Does he?" she asks softly, almost whispering.

She knows bits of the Hanlon family, snippets from the clown. Though all she really knows is that Creighton Duke, who shared Leroy Hanlon's face, but not his name, and not his life, was another victim of Jason's never ending reign of bloodshed and carnage...

"Yeah, uh, I'm not... I get it, you know," Mike says softly, lowering his eyes. "I mean, I don't know what it's like to lose someone... like that... I mean, I lost my parents, when I was little..." he frowns slightly. "You know that burnt down house on Harrison Ave?"

"Oh, no, dear, I'm... I'm not at all familiar with Derry."

"Right, you've... you've just moved here," Mike says, smiling sadly. For once, it feels actually good to talk about it. "My parents... I was inside when it burnt down," he stares at his feet, at the soil beneath him. "Before I was rescued, my mom and dad were trapped in the next room over from me... They were pushing and pounding on the door... trying to me..."

His eyes water as he remembers their screams, the crackling of the flames, almost like thunder bellowing in his ears, lions roaring even, the smell of burning wood nothing compared to the smell of burning flesh, a smell he could never forget, especially no tin his nightmares... he remembers seeing their fingers, blackened and burnt, scabby and grotesque, hearing their screams, his mom begging for him to help them and his dad yelling at him to get help... But he was so little back then, he had been too scared to do anything. He closes his eyes as he recalls his father's last words.

 _Chips_ , _Chips_! _Get him out of here_! _Please_!

Strange, Mike thinks as he sniffles. He had forgotten. How could he have forgotten? He hadn't been rescued by the firemen... Mr. Chips had saved him, grabbed him by the back of the shirt and pulled him from the flames... God, he missed that dog.

"But it was too hot... and when the firemen finally found them... the skin on their hands had..." he swallows the vomit that rises in the back of his throat, "... melted down to the bone."

He sighs and she stares at him.

She puts a comforting hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Mr. Chips saved me," he admits. "My grandfather got him, as a puppy, and gave him to my dad when he was a kid. That dog was older than dirt... and he still pulled me out of the fire... He died, just a little while ago... I think that one hit my grandfather real hard."

"It's... indescribable," the woman says softly. "Losing your child... and... when someone else is responsible for it... and they just brush it off... calling it an accident even though --" She closes her eyes. "It makes you angry."

"The fire was an accident," Mike says quietly. "But, uh, some people in this town, they called, still call, my parents crack heads. Meth heads. Whatever. My grandfather... he didn't take that well... and people, they whisper about me... He's got tougher skin than me, my grandpa."

"That doesn't mean it hurts any less," the woman says, quite wisely. She smiles at him. "Your family raised a good one, whether it was your father or your grandfather. Not a whole lot of kids would have sat with an old woman."

Mike chuckles.

"You don't look that old to me."

She chuckles softly.

"I may look 49, but for all you know, I could be 59," she says.

"He's 59. My grandpa," Mike says, smiling.

A moment of peaceful silence.

"You said the dog passed?" she asks suddenly.

"Yeah, uh, he was a puppy when my dad was my age. It was a wonder he lived so long. My grandpa called it stubbornness," Mike says.

She smiles.

"Well, you know, the dog gave birth to quite a few puppies last night, and the clown mentioned wanting to give some away if she was alright with it," she says, smiling even though the concept of talking animals was beyond bizarre, even for her.

Mike smiles, beaming.

"You... you think he'd like it? A puppy?" he asks.

"Well, it'd be more for you but I think your grandfather would be a bonus," Pamela says.

Mike nods.

"You... wanna come with?"

She glances at him, even more surprised.

"I mean, it's no fun to be sitting out here all by yourself... and you've already planted seeds in that spot," Mike says, staring at the soil and knowing that was the case. He'd seen his grandfather do it plenty of times before, the man not even realizing what he was doing until after he had done it. "It wouldn't be right, to leave you out here by yourself."

"It wouldn't be right for me to keep you from seeing the puppies, either."

"Well, we can solve two problems by seeing them together," Mike says, smiling. He realizes something, "Hey, I never got your name."

"You might be frightened even if you haven't seen those films."

"What? Is your name Pamela Voorhees?" he asks, grinning.

It dims slightly at hte look on her face.

"Oh."

She just chuckles.

"Yeah."

"Well... nice to meet you. I'm Mike."

**********

Bill is smiling as he pets the dog, the Pomeranian, as he sits next to the clown, Georgie next to him. It's peaceful, simply sitting in the dogs' tent and watching the puppies suckling from their mother. It's nice, even. Cheryl is currently bouncing a ball back and forth, a cheerful smile on her face, with the sea lion, Stefano. With his tail, he would smack it towards her and like a volleyball, she would smack it right back, the girl clearly enjoying it as much as the sea lion.

"Wuh-Which wuh-ones are wuh-which?" Bill can't help but ask as he stares at the six other dogs, which are staring at him with amused expressions on their faces, not that he knows that.

Five males and one female, the female obviously being the one laying on the doggy bed with the puppies nursing off of her, while the other five were all standing around her, like literal guard dogs. What was rather peculiar, he thought, was the fact that the rest of the animals, minus the stallion and the sheep, were also in the tent. The triplet mares, Vitaly, Stefano, the two Asian elephants, Manu and Maya, and Sonya, the black bear. They too were keeping their distance, and according to Robert, Gia was currently with Ben and Beverly.

It was weird, bill finding it rather strange but almost sweet, how Circus Zaragoza honestly reminded him of a big family.

"Frankie's the brown Entlebucher with the yellow pearls," Robert says, gesturing towards the mother. "Freddie's the Great Dane. The blue pearls. Jonesy's the Great Pyrenees with the yellow bowtie. Shakey's the brown Bernese Mountain with the pink pearls --" Bill had no trouble recognizing that one, because it was seemingly grinning a demented grin while staring intently at him, "-- Sammy's the black Weiner with the red bowtie, and Bobby's the brown Beagle with the blue bowtie."

"Oh."

There were more puppies than Bill had fingers, and some of them were actually struggling to find a spot to suckle from. One in particular, the smallest of them all, was struggling the hardest, whining quite loudly and pawing desperately at its mother's belly to no avail, and the others simply were shoving him, or maybe her, out of the way. Bill frowned at the sight, guessing easily that that one was the runt of the litter, and found it far to small to be healthy. Frankie was even giving it an almost sorrowful look even as the clown stared.

"He's so little," Mike's voice says, making Bill jump.

He turns to see Mike standing right behind him, staring at the little puppy with an awed look on his face. Richie and Eddie and Stan are right behind him, and Richie gestures at Bill with his head that someone was coming, and judging by the terrified look on his face, it wasn't someone good. Who --

"I've got more blankets and the bottle," a rather familiar voice said.

Bill blinked several times with surprise at the sight of Pamela Voorhees herself, or perhaps a _really_ good look alike walking into multiple blankets and a baby bottle full of milk. He looked over to Richie, Stan, and Eddie, who all gave him equally bemused if not terrified expressions. All three of them were clearly saying the same thing;

 _Don't know_. _Don't ask_.

Robert smiled and knelt down by Frankie, giving her a look to which she sniffed and he displayed his hand out to her before reaching into the puppy pile. Bill flinched as Robert took hold of the puppy, but that wasn't why. It was the squealing, borderline screaming, and even a few of the other dogs flinched from the shrill sound.

As Robert's gloved hand wrapped around the puppy, nearly holding the tiny thing's whole body in his palm, the little thing wriggled around frantically, yelping loudly and flailing awfully as though it was being tortured. And even though her hackles rose, Frankie didn't attack the clown.

Robert flinched, too, knowing full well why the puppy was reacting so badly.

His hands were cold, yes, but even the young knew a dangerous predator in seconds.

It whimpered and whined, screeching like a scorned harpy as it tried to wriggle itself free of the clown's grasp. It shook and twisted its tiny little head around, ears flapping about.

 _I've eaten things that didn't complain this much_ , he thinks grimly as Pamela takes the puppy from him, wrapping it up in the blanket before propping it up and offering it the bottle.

It stopped whining immediately, suckling hungrily on the nipple. He frowns slightly, feeling honestly hurt by the puppy's reaction, though he can't blame the little thing, and yet he still manages a smile at the sight of the sweetened expression on Bill's own face.

"Are they going to join the circus, too?" Georgie asks.

"They're already part of the circus," the clown says simply. "Circus isn't about the tricks or the acts you do. Circus is about what's in here," the clown says, poking Georgie in the chest, where his heart was at. "There is, however, a slight chance some of them won't stay."

"Why not?" Mike asks, staring keenly at the puppy as Pamela bottle fed it.

Bill frowns. He knows some would probably be given away, free puppies, most likely, but he stares at the one in the woman's arms with a look of foreboding. It really is too small for a mix between a Great Pyrenees and an Entlebucher Mountain dog. Its short haired, same as Frankie, instead of a puffball, like Jonesy, though it does have the little black spot around its eye, same as its father, and its' fur is considerably paler, with more black spots decorating its little body. But he's so _small_. Almost sickly, even. His heart stings at the idea of having to explain something like that to Georgie, and he shakes his head instantly at Richie when the other boy opens his mouth.

"Well, if Frankie doesn't mind, he's all yours," Robert says.

Bill glances up at that.

Mike, too. Pamela smiles.

She doesn't mind. After all, the clown already had this planned.

"Why?" Mike asks, surprised.

Robert just smiles even though his scar is stinging at the moment. Of course he would know that Mike's birthday, same as Stan's, was coming up. That, and he knows that Mr. Chips, the puppy Leroy gave to William when he was Mike's age, had died just after the fire. Old age, though Leroy had the lingering thoughts that the old boy had died of a broken heart after realizing that William wasn't coming back.

"The pregnancy itself was a surprise," he says, giving Jonesy a dirty look to which the dog wags his tail. "And not all of them will probably stay in the circus anyhow. And you live on a big farm, don't you? I could be wrong," though he knew he wasn't, "but I think your grandfather would be the one of the few people in this town who wouldn't mind a puppy."

"That's probably true," Eddie concedes, though he's not fond of the exact number of puppies the clown has. He scowls at the clown. "How many damn dogs you got?"

"Language, _please_!" the woman snaps, Eddie flinching away.

"Suh-Seven," Bill says, smiling as he scratches the Pomeranian behind the ears, to which it sighs with contentment. The clown frowns, scratching the back of his head with confusion. He blinks at Bill, his frown deepening... He hadn't...

... when did he manifest the Pomeranian?

... and why?

He shrugs it off, however.

His manifestations, most of them illusions, or variations of his own distorted reality, were simply extensions of him. And since he was no longer content with simply scaring the children for the sake of the flavor of their fear... well, there was no harm in having the Pomeranian running about... He saw his own gaze staring right back at him, knowing that the dog was simply his way of making Bill feel better...

"Oh, just one. The little... _hellhound_... in Bill's lap," Robert says.

"Dude, it's a Pomeranian," Richie says, disbelieving. "Unless it barks a lot, I don't see anything wrong with him."

"He's a little _monster_ ," Robert says.

"I thought yuh-you suh-said huh-his nuh-name was Puh-Puh-Puh-Penny?" Bill asks, smiling as he continues to scratch the rather sweet dog behind the ears, a pleased smile on its furry little face, one that matches the pleasant smile on the clown's painted lips.

Richie frowns as he notices, even without his glasses, and his frown deepens when he realizes the similarites between the clown and the dog.

Namely, regarding the eyes.

One was lazier than the other, seemingly staring off into another direction...

"Yes. Short for Pennywise," Robert says.

"Oh," Bill says, still smiling.

"He likes you," Mike tells Bill, also smiling as he ran his thumb along the puppy's ear. It wiggled its foot in response. "He definitely likes you."

"Why do you even have so many?" Eddie asks, grumbling as he keeps his distance. He's not going to risk upsetting his allergies, even if the puppies are adorable. "I mean, do you have any idea how many animal related diseases you could get just from the fleas?"

"Ow!"

Stefano flinches, apologetic, as he accidentally hits Cheryl in the face with the ball, every animal in the tent visibly tensing. Especially the dogs. Frankie even barks indignantly while Vitaly grumbles under his breath. Gia even peers into the tent, looking offended.

"Well, it's a possibility!" Eddie says defensively.

He wasn't liking how the dogs were _glaring_ at him.

"What do you take me for?" Robert asks, scowling as he shifts in his spot, the Pomeranian glaring at Eddie now. The dog, after all, mirrored Robert's emotions and how he was actually feeling. "Fleas..." he says, disbelieving. "I ought to let the dogs chase you out of here."

"And why are all of the animals in the same tent, anyway?" Eddie asks, not liking how the mares were also glaring at him, each one tapping their hooves against the ground, as though debating with the idea of stomping him. "I mean, the tiger could --"

"Huh-He wuh-won't, Eds," Bill says, smiling. "Huh-He's guh-good. They're all guh-good."

Robert smiles at that, the Pomeranian seemingly smiling the same. Richie, however, stares intently, unable to not keep noticing the similarities in the eyes of the dog and the clown's eyes...

 _What the fuck_? The boy thinks, confused.

The clown gazes so fondly at Bill, as though studying the most beautiful painting in the world, or, rather, he was gazing at someone he held a fondness for, or perhaps something stronger than mere fond affections, especially considering the fact that the Pomeranian (named after the clown, no less), with that very same expression as its furry little face (Richie didn't know dogs _could_ have such expressions) leans closer to Bill's, his wet, black little nose touching the tip of Bill's, who --

"Oh!"

Bill quickly wipes his mouth with his hand, spluttering with disgust and yet shaking with laughter as Georgie points his little index finger and openly laughs at him. Cheryl laughs too despite the fact that she's holding her nose.

"Oh, gross, your mouth was open," Richie says, visible disgust on his face, the boy groaning as Eddie gags.

"Yeah, they do that when they like you," Mike says, smiling a smile of fond remembrance.

The dogs are snickering to themselves as Pamela gives the clown a wary look. She's partially hoping that it's an actual dog and not -- Robert looks away, shy and awkward.

With embarrassment.

That was an accident. _Honest_.

He glances back at Mike, knowing that Mr. Chips' death, Leroy finding the old dog dead in the barn, _sleeping_ in the hay as he always liked to do, had bothered him profusely. Especially since Mike had been the one to find him. He gestures with his eyes to Pamela, who offers the bundled up puppy and the bottle to him.

Mike blinks with shock, changing the subject from Bill.

"Oh, are you sure?" he asks shyly. "I don't wanna drop... him?"

Pamela just smiles as she hands the puppy over.

"Now, hold the bottle above his head," she says, smiling fondly as Mike takes the puppy, which whines at being jostled but is content where he's at. As a matter of fact, he even snuggles his little face into Mike's chest.

"Thanks," Mike says, smiling down at the puppy.

Mr. Chips had been so old. He's never held a puppy before, and definitely not like this.

"Besides, they wouldn't eat Eddie anyway," Robert says. "He's too gamey."

Bill laughs even as he pushes the Pomeranian's face away from his own.

Stan clears his throat, awkwardly.

"You guys do birthday parties, right?" Stan asks, shyly.

"Yes, I thought the ticket seller made that clear yesterday," Robert says.

"Right, well..."

" _Yes_ , Stanley," Robert says, smiling with amusement.

And _pain_.

It was paining him, his scar...

Stan beams, Eddie rolling his eyes as hope blooms in Mike's eyes, and Richie stares at the dogs.

"Next I suppose you'll have a St. Bernard you can also name Cujo," he says. "Then you'll have two of them. Not just your weird animatronic freak of nature."

"One can only hope," Robert says and Bill can hear the wistfulness in his voice. The clown glances at Frankie, who nods at him. "He's all yours if he makes it, Mike."

Mike smiles.

"Aw, no, no, I couldn't," he says quickly, though he doesn't offer the puppy back to the clown or the woman, who Bill is certain is Pamela Voorhees.

"Dogs are man's best friend, for whatever reason," Robert says, trying not to flinch at the stabbing pain he's currently feeling in his chest, though he can't stop his hand from reaching up and touching the tender spot, Bill the only one who actually notices, the boy frowning with genuine concern. "C'mon, you're the only one here who can have a puppy, aren't you?"

"Beverly's apartment most likely doesn't allow animals, and her dad probably wouldn't either," Eddie adds. "And I'm allergic."

"You _think_ you're allergic," Richie retorts. "And my dad hates dogs. So does Stan's, and I'm really doubting Bill's dad would let him have a puppy. No idea about Ben."

Bill knows that his dad wouldn't let him have one, he knows that.

"I, uh..." Mike says, swallowing nervously.

Robert can tell he's unused to all the attention, in a good light instead of a bad one, and the friendly atmosphere is definitely something new to him. That, and he's surprised that a complete stranger, or a guy he's only known for two days, would offer him a free puppy.

"C'mon, you've a birthday coming, don't you?" the clown asks.

"Well, yeah, I'm turning 13, but... I don't know if my grandfather will... be okay with it..." Mike admits.

Although that wasn't entirely true. He didn't know how his grandfather would react if he suddenly brought home a puppy. He knows he has to ask first, but still. Or maybe he should make it a surprise even though it's not his grandfather's birthday...

"Well, you can bring up the idea when you're all playing football together. I'm sure he'll love it," Robert says.

"Maybe," Mike says, smiling down at the puppy. "Thanks. Is it cool if I call him Little Chips?"

Frankie snorts. That isn't the name she had in mind, the clown knows, but... Robert smiles and nods despite the flaring pain in his chest, under his scar.

"So, you promised me your arcade game?" Richie asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yes, it's upstairs. Second floor, in the room at the end of the hallway..." Robert says, smiling strangely. Bill can't help but notice how he seems to have that look of remembrance in his ey es, but there's a darkness to his gaze, as though he's reliving a bad memory... and he can see the guilt, clear as crystal, in the depths of the starlight blue of the clown's eyes... "There are three closets. It's in the middle one."

"Why do you have three closets?" Eddie asks, confused. "In the same room?"

"Why do _you_ have two fanny packs?" the clown retorts, almost defensively.

Eddie frowns, almost glaring at the clown, but he holds his tongue. Mostly because there was a lot of swearing in what he was thinking about saying, and he didn't like the look the woman was giving him.

"He's got you there," Cheryl says.

Richie just shrugs. No way can _Mortal Kombat_ be far superior to _Street Fighter_. He grabs Eddie's wrist, the hypochondriac flushing at the fact, though he hardly notices.

"C'mon, I'll kick your ass at it," he says. "Yours too, Stanley. You can't hog that roller coaster forever."

Stan scowls but concedes and the clown watches them go.

"I owe yuh-you a guh-game," Bill says suddenly, smiling shyly as his cheeks grow warm, still wiping away the Pomeranian's saliva. "Fuh-For yuh-yesterday..."

Robert's smile returns.

"Huh-How muh-many?" Bill asks, curious.

"I think 27 will do."

Bill could remember many things. He could remember the sudden slamming of the door downstairs all the way back in October that day he had let Georgie go out in the rain by himself, the boy having peered into the hallway when the piano music stopped. He remembers what he saw. His mom and another man, who definitelyw asn't his dad, heading for his parents' bedroom. He remembers his dad coming home early, his heart pounding with confusion and fear.

He could remember how his parents had started screaming at each other, his dad pissed and his mom upset, though the other guy had said nothing at all, hadn't made a peep even when his dad threatened to shoot his junk off his body if he didn't get out of his house. He also remembers the rather sly wink the bastard had given him, as he watched, wide-eyed, confused, and frightened, out of his bedroom window, as though the man's whole intention had been to break up their parents from the very beginning of his mom's affair.

He remembers the many summers where he and his family had gone on vacations, before and after Georgie had been born, and he remembers when that all stopped, for good. He remembers every time he's gone to the Derry Summer Fair with Richie, including that time when there were so many prizes that he didn't know which one to pick.

He thinks that after today, he will remember this summer fondly. Maybe even forever. Until his dying day. That'd be nice, he thinks, especially as he makes his 27th balloon pop with the dart, the sound faintly bothering his ears but not to the point that they rung painfully.

"Winner, winner, chicken dinner," Robert says pleasantly from his spot next to Bill, the clown having watched the boy go with a fondness unlike any other.

And no, the game wasn't rigged.

His knee was bent, the other leg wrapped around the first, with his arms propped up on the counter to the game stand, pressing against his chest, though he really was quite tall. He blamed Bob Gray's genetics. Bill smiles at him, as radiant as the sun itself and bright as the moon. He offers Bill another dart.

"Any other prizes you want? Some books, maybe? I have the whole set of _Narnia_. Or some _X-Men_ comics?"

"Yuh-You suh-seem tuh-to knuh-know wuh-what I wuh-want," Bill says. "It's wuh-weird."

"Hey, I'm an entertainer, Bill," Robert says, smiling. "Knowing what makes my audience and my friends smile is part of my job."

Bill's smile just grows as he takes the dart, his cheeks a bright shady of rosy pink as his fingers brush over the clown's gloved ones. He stares into the selection of prizes before him, above his head and behind the employee. Books and comics are nice, plushies too, and he definitely has his eye on that plush tiger that resembles Vitaly, and has a feeling Beverly will be leaving with that plush jaguar by the end of the day, and yet...

He grins when he spots a large doll hanging from between the tiger and the spider. Robert quirks his lips and glances at whatever it is that makes Bill smile, and gives the little doll an unimpressed look, knowing full well that this was Georgie and Roberta's doing. And what are the odds that Bill would want _that_ out of all of the prizes displayed?

Astronomical.

 _You've gotta be fucking kidding me_ , the clown thinks.

"Huh-Him," Bill says, pointing.

It has to be either the cutest thing he's ever seen, or maybe the dorkiest. It resembles Robert to a goddamned T, from the whitish, slightly yellowing, faded over fitted doublet to the pantaloons and even the red puffballs running down his front, as well as the snowy white, starched ruff around his neck, and the pure white gloves on his little hands. He even has the same little boots with two little puffballs on the tips.

The paint on the doll's little face was the same as well, with white covering the entirety of it and with the red lipstick and the red facial paint that resembled a cheetah, and even the starlight blue eyes that gazed in two different directions, Bill might've thought it to be a doll made after Robert specifically.

Though, the few facial differences begged to differ. Including the large, rather bulbous head and the fluffy, spiked up ginger hair. He didn't have to be a genius to figure out that this was Bob Gray's version of Pennywise. The original, he supposed.

"You sure? We can annoy Vitaly with the tiger," Robert offers.

"I'm sure," Bill says, without a stutter and with a smile.

"Fine, but only if you scare the shit out of your dad with it," Robert says.

Bill can't help but laugh softly.

"Duh-Deal," he says.

Robert simply sighs and reaches into the display for the clown doll, knowing full well it wasn't porcelain (a good thing, since he was sure Zack would use that as an excuse to smash it and make it look like an accident) and he can't help the skipped beating of his heart as Bill happily accepts it.

He's more like a child, the clown thinks. Without the devastation of losing his little brother, and the guilt he felt for it for so long, even deep down when he had forgotten for nearly thirty years after leaving Derry, Bill was more like a kid despite what happened between his parents. Or, at the very least, he could act like a kid around the clown, because Robert was the only one who wouldn't judge him. The only one out of his group of friends, even more than Stan, Eddie, and even Richie, who surely knew Bill the best.

Not because the clown did know everyone better than they knew themselves, even unintentionally, but because Bill had never shared that information about October, about Georgie, with anyone else. Not even Georgie knew, or at least Bill didn't think Georgie knew, that Bill had lied about being sick that day. Not even Richie knew.

Only Robert.

Speaking of Richie, however...

Robert and Bill both glance up at the house, both of them smiling with mirth at the sound of Richie's _angry_ yelling echoing out of the open window (Eddie having opened it to be able to keep his eye on the other Losers and let in fresh air). As well as Stan's raucous laughter and Eddie's delighted screams of childish triumph. The reason was, it was usually the reverse, and Stan didn't like arcade games that much. Or any game for that matter, namely _Street Fighter_ , since Richie always _won_. Not today, however.

""Fucking Johnny!" Richie yells. "This is _bullshit_! Fucking hold still!"

"Payback is a bitch, isn't it?" Eddie yells right back, Stan's laughter quickly following.

"Fuck you!" Richie snaps. "At least I didn't pick the character with the same name as my mother!"

"Shut up!"

"You know what's funny?" Robert asks.

"Wuh-What?"

His smirk stretches out.

"The game isn't rigged," he says honestly.

Bill just laughs, holding the Pennywise doll to his chest with both arms, almost like a schoolgirl, or in this case, boy, with her, or his, books, the sound of his laughter more melodic and heavenly than any other in the clown's opinion.

And to think that the day had been going so wonderfully. How the children showed up even after yesterday's events and played games and enjoyed the rides, enjoyed seeing the animals, even from a distance. To put it simply, they enjoyed the circus.

Until someone came along to ruin it.

He tenses when the back door swings open, seeing the stone cold face of Butch Bowers first and foremost, though his eyes are obscured by the sunglasses he wears. Behind him is another cop, a rookie, rather than the Sheriff, and it's obvious by the worried look on the rookie's face, a young, scrappy looking boy, that they aren't supposed to be here.

Police officers or not.

Vitaly tenses as the clown does. As a matter of fact, every animal in the circus tents, the dogs and the cats, as well as Sonya, the absolute worse. Gia even steps forward, standing in front of Beverly and Ben almost defensively, as Vitaly's eyes turn to slits. At the sight of the badges, glinting under the sunlight, Robert can understand why, because the entire atmosphere has tensed over with the sickly sweet scent of...

... fear.

Butch gazes about the circus with a vaguely interested expression, a gruffness in his face reserved most often for the things he doesn't care for. Including the Hanlon family. And his own son. The latter, whom, upon the sight of him, quickly backed away and was currently hiding behind the nearest circus tent. His lips curve upwards at the sight of dogs, before he scowls at the sight of Mike and Pamela tending to Little Chips and Frankie. He stands upright, puffing his chest out as though he was something tough, making sure his badge was front and center, before opening his mouth;

"There a Robert, here?" he asks, loud and clear, his voice heard even over the circus music.

"Ruh-Robert?" Bill murmurs, his eyes wide with confusion.

A strange sort of horror dawns on him.

Robert glances at him, a knowing look in his eyes, laced with grimness.

"Yeah," he says softly, knowing exactly what Bill was thinking. "It's not your fault, Bill."

It really isn't, the boy had no idea that when he used Robert's name in front of his father the other day, the bastard would use that to some sort of twisted advantage. Or, perhaps, he simply wanted to soil the clown's name before he had even built it up in this town, though Robert knew it would backfire on the fucker anyhow, since not only was Butch easily influenced, but he hardly needed to influence him at all. Butch didn't care, not anymore. Not since the kids started going missing, not ever.

"Can, I, help with you with anything..." Robert asks, now grimacing as more kids stop in their places to simply stare. His grimace deepens, his guilt intensifying, though he wasn't the one who took the child, as he realizes Cheryl Lamonica is one of the onlookers, the only one with a worried look on her face. Well, other than Bill, of course, "... officers?"

Butch lets out a faint chuckle, evidently pleased. He stares almost with a hint of boredom about the circus.

"Awful lotta kids running around," he says. Robert scowls at the man's next words, though he knows what he's going to say before he says them; "Any one of them Esther Sinclair by any chance?"

Cheryl's stomach drops, seemingly out of her body and into an abyss of nothingness, as well as her heart, though it begins to pound as a coldness washes over her. Butch frowns at that, glancing over at her with a rather suspicious look. But not for the reason one would suspect.

"No," Robert says quietly, truthfully. "She left last night."

"And would you happen to know what time that was?"

"Fuh-Four," Bill says, swallowing as he steps forward. "Shuh-She luh-left at fuh-four."

Butch frowns at that and Cheryl steps forward.

"Why are you asking?"

Robert looks away as he sees the fear in her eyes, though he smells it, the sweet, tanginess of it permeating the air almost like the finest of perfumes or the most natural of aromas. All the more sweeter. Yet all he feels now is guilt.

Cheryl is trembling.

She's seen this before. She remembers it all too well, because the same thing happened only just months ago, back in October, the night after Halloween, when Veronica went...

... when she went...

... _missing_.

The police officer at the Grogan household had been Butch Bowers, just the same. It made sense since it was such a small town, but she recognizes that same uncaring attitude that surrounds him. Sticks to him like something foul. She knows, for reasons she shouldn't, that the police only offer 72 hours to look for a missing person. Just as she knows that in Derry, you don't even get a full 24...

"The kid didn't come home last night," Butch says, quite carelessly, since he's seen it before, too. Kids go missing all the time, some ending up as runaways and the others for whatever disturbing reason. At his day and age, he's learned to tune it out, lest he care. "Her parents had a hunch she would be here."

"She's... she's not..." Cheryl says, her chest constricting painfully, as though a serpent was wiggling and slithering around under her flesh, squeezing her until her breath refused to come. "She... she promised we'd see the lion together... she wanted to tell me something... I got here first... I haven't seen her all day... not since last night when she walked me home."

"Mm."

Butch shakes his head as he stares at each individual face of each kid in the circus. He grimaces at the sight of the clown's face, as well as the little face of the clown doll in the Denbrough boy's hands, and he can't quite figure out why the clown looks so familiar -- the doll more than the man -- and he vaguely recalls being a boy, about 27 years ago, and hadn't kids gone missing then, too? Robert lowers his eyes at the man's thoughts.

"Awful lot of dogs you've got," Butch says simply, almost appreciatively.

"It's a circus," Robert says, his tone waspish and cold.

"I can see that," the police officer says. "I'm just saying. I think Zack was wrong about you. For a circus freak, you've certainly got good taste in cars."

Bill feels his eyes water as his chest stings with guilt.

Did his dad honestly send the _police_ after the clown?

After Robert?

"Lot more like a fair than a circus, though, isn't it?" Butch asks, frowning slightly. "I mean, yeah, you've got a bunch of animals --" only Robert knows, as well as the animals, and Pamela, that that's all Butch is seeing. Not the aquarium, and he's only seeing what the clown allows him to see. Same as the rookie. "Why?"

"Are you going to actually look for the kid or keep asking stupid questions?" Robert snaps, unable to stop himself. He becomes cagey at the question, unable to stop himself from snapping at the man. Butch's eyes harden at that and Robert thinks he's going to be making a running gag of having bad first impressions on the parents of the children he knows. First Bill, and now Henry. "If you're here to look for her, then you're barking up the wrong tree, I'm sorry to say."

"Careful, boy," Butch says, turning cold himself now. Robert knew he didn't really care why it was more like a fair than a circus, the reason behind that one the clown was unwilling to share at the moment, especially with anyone like Butch, and was simply finding new things about it to dislike. "Hanging around certain _riff raff_ in this town --" he says, his eyes lingering on Beverly Marsh, Mike Hanlon, and Bill Denbrough, in particular, "-- and you might find yourself in a bad spot."

"Mister, I ain't no boy," Robert says, his eyes darkening. Bill frowns as he notices the sound of the circus music... changing. It becomes more eerie, almost...

... sinister.

A sound far more... _dangerous_.

Almost _deadly_.

Almost like something you'd hear at a haunted circus on Halloween or in a horror movie about clowns rather than a joyful one in the summertime...

"Watch yourself," Butch says, and, with a judgmental sneer, " _boy_."

He approaches the clown, large hands on the straps of his holster, clearly attempting to display dominance as he steps forward, sneering at Bill, who, by the rumors of this town, he knows is one of the town _sluts_ \--

( _Pretty mouth he's got_ , Butch thinks, as he gives Bill a sideways glance, Robert's eyes flashing yellow, _if he wasn't a faggot_ , _I'd wonder if he knows how to use it yet_.)

He steps back, his eyes widening, when he hears the sound of _growling_. He glances over at the tiger as well as the jaguar and even the bear, all three standing almost protectively in front of different children, and even the dogs are baring their teeth at him, snouts curled back into vicious snarls. Yet that isn't the sound he heard, that he alone heard.

Not even a tiger, nor even a bear, could sound so _monstrous_.

He feels something then. A coldness washing over him, memories flashing through his mind.

He was a boy, just turning thirteen, and his old man, drunk as a skunk and none the wiser about his actions, or the prick stopped giving a shit a long time ago, was beating on his mom before turning his sights on Butch. He remembers that for his thirteenth birthday, he got an ass beating unlike any other. He remembers that, and he remembers how _afraid_ he had been.

Fear pierces him, like a bullet pierces flesh.

Robert grins, sadistic and wicked.

Only Butch sees it, however.

Butch trembles as he remembers his father's cruel words;

 _Nothing like a little fear to make a paper man crumble_.

He closes his eyes, thankful for the sunglasses, as a cold trickle of sweat beads down his temples, down the back of his neck, his hands growing clammy.

"The kid isn't here," he says, shaking his head. The rookie frowns, as does Cheryl. "That's another one for the posters, then."

Cheryl makes a soft sound, something high-pitched and full of _hurt_ , and Butch glares at her from behind his sunglasses. He knows the three girls, Lamonica, Sinclair, and Grogan, were all friendly with each other. He remembers seeing them dressed as fairies and princesses on Halloween night when he had been on duty, the night Grogan had went missing.

"Sorry, kid," he says, not really meaning it. He turns towards his rookie. "Let's go."

Cheryl's broken voice stops him in his tracks.

"You're...you're going to look... for her? Aren't you?" she asks, almost murmuring, tears welling in her eyes, the girl feeling ready to start bawling like a baby.

He scoffs.

"Sure, kid," he says because hasn't she figured it out already?

In Derry, Maine, once you were missing, you were missing. You weren't coming back. You were as good as dead. You were dead.

"Sorry to disturb you, Robert," he says, not really sorry at all. Although he has half a mind to punch Zack Denbrough in the face for his little tip. And with as much sarcasm, and bitchiness, as he can muster in his fear induced haze he says, "Have a nice day."

Robert frowns as the two of them leave.

He closes his eyes as Cheryl starts to cry, pressing her hands to her mouth and sobbing into them as Stefano approaches her, butting his head agianst her calf in a comforting gesture, though the sea lion knows it will do no good. Pamela frowns as she walks away from Mike, heading for Cheryl and wrapping her arms around the poor thing. Cheryl doesn't even care that a complete stranger is hugging her, and instead settles for sobbing into the older woman's chest as the atmosphere of tension fades into something darker, but mostly depressive.

The clown hadn't been able to find her. None of the dogs had found her either. He had a disturbed feeling that Freddy really wasn't responsible for her disappearance, and that didn't settle his nerves at all, because he had no idea if Gan would have taken her, would have bothered to interfere in this one little pocket universe when there was a whole Macroverse to worry about, and he had not a clue if the female turtle would have interfered even though Maturin never did...

He sighs as Bill takes hold of his hand, his little fingers curling around Robert's longer ones, an upset look on the boy's face.

"Yuh-You okay?" Bill whispers, unsure of how he's supposed to feel.

Robert was with him the whole time. His dad had proven that without actually meaning to, which he found kind of stupid since his dad was obviously the one who sent Henry's dad after the clown. He supposes that one really backfired on his dad. He doesn't think the woman, who really is named Pamela, would have done anything, and none of the employees would have either, he was sure. He didn't know them that well but he had a feeling Esther's disappearance had nothing to do with the circus.

She was just...

... like Veronica, like Betty, and like Ed, and even Patrick, she was just...

... gone.

She was missing.

Not necessarily dead, but still...

Robert could understand now, that the not knowing, the lack of some semblance of "closure" was the absolute _worst_. Cheryl's crying definitely wasn't helping his guilt...

Everyone stares, some with fear and others with confusion, others with simple frowns on their faces. Stan, Eddie, and Richie all stare out the window, equally worried looks on each of their faces. Stan swallows, frowning the deepest.

"Should... should we go home?" Stan asks.

"You don't have to," Robert says quietly, holding Bill's hand tightly, "but when you do, travel in groups and I want some of you to take a dog."

He can see through the eyes of their dolls, yes, but... despite what he had seen yesterday, he hadn't even bothered to try and find out who had been running through the Barrens. Hadn't even bothered to look. Hadn't concerned himself with it. And now a girl was missing. One he hadn't even taken himself. The pain in his scar worsens, as though that past version of Mike Hanlon is stabbing him, over and over again, again and again until the end of time and even after...

Despite the scene that just unfolded before their very eyes, the kids return to their activities, their games and their rides, their meals and their conversations, chattering away simple nonsense, simply going about their lives as though someone hadn't quite possibly lost their own. Cheryl openly bawls, nearly blubbering, because Esther _was_ her friend. Veronica _was_ her friend. They _were_ her friends... Not anymore. They were just gone...

Pamela takes her into the house as all seven of the Losers and Georgie stare, each one frowning just the same. The animals are the only other ones watching, staring at the clown. They, too, know it wasn't him, and that frightens them, too.

Robert frowns at the stink of guilt, but it isn't his own he's sensing.

It's Bill's.

The boy is frowning, staring at Cheryl's departing form with the guiltiest look on his face, the look of someone who is holding a deep secret he feels incredibly regretful about. Bill knows, without a doubt, that it is incredibly _selfish_ of him, beyond _cruel_ of him, to be genuinely _relieved_ that it wasn't Georgie who was listed as the first missing kid of 1989. That his little brother wasn't the first kid to go missing this year. He can't even begin to imagine what Georgie's little face would have looked like on a Missing Kid poster, his birthday underneath of his photograph...

And yet Georgie's poster would have been covered up, everyone simply forgetting that he was missing because Veronica Grogan had gone missing, too. Just after he would have. And then she was forgotten because Betty Ripsom had gone missing. And Betty would have been forgotten because of Ed. And then Ed because of Patrick.

Bill feels nauseous at the mental imagery of Georgie's face on a Missing Kid poster, just as Cheryl was currently feeling sick at the mental imagery of Esther's face on a Missing Kid poster, and Richie was currently feeling upset as well.

Cheryl sniffles, her heart feeling like glass, splintering away as it began to crack and break, splitting in two and then into countless little, irreparable pieces, as the woman, Pamela, let her upstairs into the bathroom to get cleaned up. Every inch of her feels nauseous, a lump forming in the back of her throat and she feels like puking, as she stares miserably up at Pamela.

"Why does it keep happening?" she asks, almost croaking, as she wipes her eyes on her sleeve, wetting it with her tears. "Why do kids keep going missing?"

Pamela holds her tongue as she wets a cloth.

"I mean... you haven't been here long, have you? You know about all the missing kids, though, don't you? Veronica Grogan, she is --" she flinches, "-- _was_ , my friend, and she went missing on Halloween night... she walked me and Esther home but... nobody was there to walk her home," she says tearfully. "And then... Betty Ripsom disappeared too... then Eddie Corcoran... I mean, nobody cares about Patrick Hockstetter..."

"I don't know why the kids are going missing," Pamela says softly.

Her words are honest and not at the same time.

All she knows is that it has something to do with the clown. She knows, because of Krueger, that the clown, It, had been starving himself for the longest time, trying not to hurt any of the kids in this dirty little town the best he could, but that had proven itself a difficult task as he was _hungry_.

She knew that no creature couldn't deny its own nature, especially its own hunger. Humans were a little different, but the clown _wasn't_ human. She knows he hasn't meant to hurt anyone. She knows what that rotten Hockstetter boy tried to do to Bill, and she doesn't blame the clown for that kill, though she knows he didn't... well... _feed_. She knows how poorly that horrible Macklin man treated his stepsons before the clown killed him, actually having fed on that one and that had been when poor little Ed was killed.

An honest accident induced by bloodlust and hunger.

And then after Krueger's death, good riddance, she thought,, the clown had been able to stop himself. She knew he felt the absolute worst, however, because not even he could find the girl last night. She sighs.

"I don't feel so good," Cheryl murmurs.

"I know, dear," Pamela says softly, wiping at the girl's cheeks, remembering how she did this for Jason when he had a bad day at the park... children really were little monsters, weren't they? "I know."

Both frown at the sound of knocking on the bathroom door. To both of their surprise, it's Richie Tozier. Judging by the awkward look on his face, Pamela guesses its just as much of a surprise for him that he's stopping by to talk to them as it is for them.

"Uh, hey," he says awkwardly as he nervously steps into the bathroom, still terrified of Pamela but his concern for Cheryl outweighs that fear. "I, uh... well... we heard what happened out there..."

Cheryl scowls.

"Didn't everyone?" she asks, almost snapping, her tone bitter. "Everyone will know soon anyway."

"Yeah..." Richie says, gritting his teeth awkwardly. "Um... listen, I'm not stupid enough to ask if you're okay... I... I don't know how it feels, to have a friend go missing..."

"Two," Cheryl corrects him.

"Right... I mean, if that was Eddie, I would have the same reaction."

Cheryl frowns.

"Eddie..." she says quietly, remembering the incident at the arcade.

She and Esther had been there, after all...

Pamela glances between the two of them, sensing that this wasn't a conversation she was needed in, and she simply pats the girl on the shoulder before departing. Frankly, she was surprised that Richie Tozier would try and comfort Cheryl after hearing about what happened. She has no idea that Richie himself is surprised at his own actions.

"Yeah..." he says quietly. "I know I'm just Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier but, uh, I'm not judging you, okay? I... this probably won't help but there's no way Esther wouldn't have... I mean, you guys were in the arcade... when Bowers... you know... You know that if you ever need anything, anything at all, you know you can ask one of us Losers, right?"

A sharp sound, high in pitch and laced with confusion.

"Huh?"

Cheryl stares, beyond shocked.

Richie Tozier?

Seriously?

"Yeah, I know," Richie says, smiling awkwardly. "This is the first time we interacted since middle school, when I told you your braces made your face look shiny and you punched me in the face," he says. "You even broke my glasses."

"Oh..." Cheryl says, lowering her eyes.

"You do know it was a compliment, right?"

"Uh, no..."

"Sorry..."

"No, it's fine..." she says awkwardly. She smiles slightly when she understands what he's offering. "Thanks..."

"Don't mention it," Richie says, smiling just as nervously.

Cheryl just sighs.

"Esther was going to tell me something important today," she says quietly. "She was so adamant that we would see the lion dance together and she'd tell me what it was... I think Veronica knew what it was..."

Richie frowns.

He has a feeling he knows what it was.

"I'm, uh, I'm no expert, but, missing or not, I'm sure Esther will find some way to tell you what she wanted to say," he says.

"How can she do that if she's missing?" Cheryl asks glumly. Her lower lip quivers, her upper lip trembling. "How is it that all of those kids... all of the people in this town...? What is it that makes them turn their heads and just... how can they not care?"

"Because it doesn't affect them," Richie says, somewhat wisely. "I think whatever it was Esther was going to tell you, I think you'll find out. Even if it's in a way you don't expect."

"Sure..." Cheryl says, giving him a piercing look. "I saw how you looked at Eddie, Tozier. If you've got something you want to tell him, you better fucking tell him before this summer's up."

"Way to pull a guy out of the closet, Lamonica," Richie says, but with a smile as he awkwardly extends his arms out.

"Please, Eddie did it for teh both of you at the arcade," she says, accepting his hug.

"Nah, that was Bowers."

She just shrugs as she lowers her eyes.

"Come on, you wanna play _Mortal Kombat_ with me?" Richie asks.

Admittedly, the game isn't as bad as he thought, but his preferences still lies with _Street Fighter_. Always and forever. Cheryl frowns as she pulls out of the hug, staring at him with confusion. She has yet to hear of that game...

"Mortal what?" she asks.

" _Mortal Kombat_ ," Richie repeats. "Some lame ass game where some Earthrealm fighters have to participate in a life or death tournament to save their world from Shang Tsung. It's an arcade game that the clown has. Eddie and Stan love it already. Stan's already figured out how to perform Scorpion's fatality and won't quit using it on me. I only knocked Sonya Blade's head off her shoulders as Johnny Cage once."

Cheryl's lips quirk with curiosity at all of the new names. Yet she can't help but notice that Richie talks about the game with a hint of gloominess mixed with envy.

"I thought you loved arcade games," she says.

"I love _Street Fighter_ ," Richie corrects her. "Which, mind you, in my opinion, is far superior to _Mortal Kombat_. Eddie and Stan disagree. You wanna decide which one you like better?"

She smiles.

It's a watery thing, but she's feeling a little better.

Just a little.

"Thank you."

Bill sits with Robert in the dogs' tent, Georgie now playing with Stefano and the circus ball, the two tossing it back and forth. Mike is sitting on the ground, cross legged, and still bottle feeding Little Chips on his own. The Pomeranian rests on Bill's lap, a glum expression on its furry little face that matches Robert's own grim frown. He can see the sadness in the clown's eyes, the look of someone who has lost something important.

He wonders then if Robert's heart is just that big, that even a kid he hardly knows going missing upsets him so much. He figures then that Robert must also be unused to the idea of so many kids, or anyone for that matter, going missing in one little town.

He knows it's wrong on so many levels to feel the amount of relief he does at the fact that Georgie isn't one of the missing kids. He knows it's incredibly selfish of him, but he can't help it. He feels guilty for feeling that way, just as he knows his guilt would be far worse if Georgie had been one of the missing kids that day in October, had Robert not been there in that stupid storm drain, and prevented something most likely terrible from happening. He couldn't even imagine... his own brother...

... and it would have been entirely his own fault.

And the even sicker part was, he was certain that if Georgie had gone missing, he would have given anything, or even any _one_ , to have him back...

... even Esther.

He can't even understand how it can be that so many kids are missing. Nearly Georgie that day in October, just before Halloween, and then Veronica Grogan on Halloween night, and Betty Ripsom, Ed Corcoran, Patrick Hockstetter...

The only adult in Derry that was currently missing was Richard Macklin, Ed and Dorsey's stepfather, but...

Bill frowns slightly as he stares at Robert, a question nagging his thoughts.

He remembers Georgie's words back at the Derry Summer Fair, about how the "nice clown" had told Mr. Macklin to put the hammer down. Bill has the disturbed feeling that Dorsey might not have survived that incident, and the idea sickens him, just as he can't help but feel curious about it. He has only seen one clown from this circus, after all, and that clown is Robert, or Pennywise, but...

If Robert was the last person to see Richard Macklin, which Bill guesses was the case... then... where did he go?

Bill doesn't stop to think that maybe the clown did something to Richard Macklin and honestly, he wouldn't care even if he had because the man was abusive to children and nearly killed Dorsey over something so stupid. A seven-year-old boy. A boy just as little as Georgie. He assumes that even if it was Robert, he probably just scared Macklin off and told him to get lost. That made more sense, he supposed. He just wonders what on earth Robert might have said, or whichever or whomever the clown was, to Mr. Macklin to make him disappear.

Unless Macklin had not disappeared as most people thought...

What if rather than Macklin having taken off on his wife and stepsons...

... but what on earth would Richard Macklin have to gain by making kids go missing? Ed went missing around the same time as him, sure, but there still wasn't exactly a motive, was there? There wasn't a reason for Macklin to take anyone else's kids, especially not so many, and as far as Bill knew, nobody had demanded any ransoms for any of the missing kids...

Besides, the people in Derry were poor. Or, at the very least, they didn't have a whole lot of money to give for a ransom, anyway. He doubted, too, that Esther would up and leave if she had wanted to tell Cheryl something...

Not even once does it occur to him that Robert could have been involved. And even if the thought did, Bill wouldn't believe it for even a second. He definitely wouldn't believe it if the idea stemmed from his father. Robert is too good for that, because Bill can tell that he actually gives a crap about the kids in this town even though they aren't his. Bill knows that. Especially since he told everyone to travel in groups, and take a dog.

Bill frowns.

He doesn't mind the dogs, but he would like for Robert to walk them home again...

"Are... are yuh-you sure yuh-you cuh-can't wuh-walk us huh-home again?" he asks hesitantly. Robert looks at him, faintly surprised. "I knuh-know muh-my duh-dad acted luh-luh-like a duh-dick buh-but..."

"I'd rather not cause a problem between the two of you," Robert says softly. Bill frowns at that. "Honestly, though, you should take Dorsey with you. Just in case..."

"Yeah..." Bill says quietly, running his fingers along the fur of the Pomeranian's chest.

Robert closes his eyes at the strange but rather pleasant feeling.

"I, uh..." the clown says, frowning. "You'll be a big group, but I think you should take Jonesy and Freddie with you. For when you end up separating. Even if Ben walks Beverly home and Eddie walks Richie home..."

"Yeah..." Bill says, scratching along the Pomeranian's belly now, unaware of the effect it was having, even as the little dog laid on its back across his lap, a happy look on its little face. Bill chuckles, awkwardly, almost dorkishly. "Can, uh, can we tuh-take Puh-Puh-Puh--P-Puh--" he grits his teeth, annoyed. "Can wuh-we take huh-him too?"

Robert's eyes light up.

That's one way to get past Zack's bullshit, he thinks.

"Yes, absolutely."

Bill smiles.

"So, uh..." he starts again, shy as ever. Shy as a fawn, daresay. "Tuh-Tuh-Too buh-bad Vuh-Vitaly can't do it."

"He's a 475 pound tiger. As much as I know he wants to, and even though I would let him, he can't exactly do that without the risk of getting shot," Robert says pleasantly. Vitaly glares at him from his spot in the tent, the massive cat rolling his gemlike eyes.

Bill nods even as his cheeks burn like a fire in the winter.

"Um... about the quarry..." he begins. "Wuh-Whenever yuh-you wuh-want, us Luh-Luh-Losers can huh-hang out... the ice cream p-puh-pluh-place, tuh-too."

Robert just smiles.

"I'd like that," he says.

"Muh-Maybe though," Bill begins as he glances up at the house, hearing Stan, Richie, and Eddie all yelling, along with Cheryl now, "yuh-you should wuh-walk Sh-Shuh-Cheryl huh-home."

"Not a good idea, Bill," Robert says softly.

"Wuh-Why not?"

"After the way your dad reacted, I don't want to imagine how hers would react. Pamela will go with her."

"Fuh-Fair puh-point."

Later that evening...

"What the fuck does the clown think a Pomeranian is going to do if someone tries to snatch us?" Eddie asks, staring at the little dog which has been laying in Mike's basket for a while now, ever since it padded at Bill's feet and made him pick it up. Of course, the Pomeranian whined a lot when Bill put it down. "Seriously?"

"Muh-Maybe huh-he duh-did it juh-just to annoy you," Bill says, smiling awkwardly.

He's not going to admit that he was the one who asked.

The Pomeranian sticks its tongue out, seemingly licking its teeth, but judging by the glint in his eyes, Bill has the feeling he's sticking his tongue out at Eddie.

All nine of them are biking together. Well, more accurately, the Losers were pushing their bikes forward instead of actually riding them while Georgie and Dorsey were currently racing on Freddie and Jonesy as though they were ponies rather than dogs. Strangely enough, the Great Pyrenees and the Great Dane didn't seem to mind. As a matter of fact, Bill was positive the dogs were having more fun than Georgie and Dorsey were.

Richie's filter, however, doesn't stop him from inquiring about the clown;

"So, we're seriously going to be hanging out with him for his birthday?" he asks, voicing his confusion. "I mean, seriously? _Us_? The Losers' Club?"

"Huh-He's a Luh-Loser, tuh-too," Bill says, smiling. It isn't meant to be hurtful, after all. "Huh-He's wuh-one of us."

"Still. How old is he anyway?" Richie asks. "I mean, he looks like he could be almost thirty, like, maybe 27 or some shit, but he's really only 20 or something."

"Huh-He duh-didn't suh-say, suh-so duh-don't ask," Bill says.

He kept it to himself that Robert has never celebrated a single birthday before. He doesn't know how grateful the clown is for that. Just as he doesn't know that the clown already knows he hasn't shared that information, and that he won't.

"But out of all of the things to do for his birthday, he wants to swim at the quarry?" Eddie asks. "I mean, the ice cream, that's one thing, but... he has ice cream at the circus."

"Well, there is a difference," Beverly throws in. "I mean, hanging out with you guys at the quarry was one of the most fun I've ever had. Mike wasn't with us then and neither was the clown. It's different, going and getting something for yourself rather than just having it handed to you."

Mike smiles.

"Thanks for that, by the way," he says. "For inviting me along."

"Well, yeah, dummy," Beverly says, "We're all friends here."

"Well, either way, I'm still very confused as to why he has a woman named Pamela Voorhees, who looks and acts like the woman herself, in his circus. Or, even, in his house," Richie says. "I mean, she looked ready to stab me with the trowel."

"Well, you did insult those movies," Mike says, somewhat defensively. "I mean, she don't like them either but some things... they just hit close to home."

"Well, sure, but still," Richie says, not throwing in any commentary. "Anyways, whenever I get the chance, I'm beating that stupid fucking game."

Stan smiles at that, sharing a smug look with Eddie.

"Like he said, you couldn't even get past Sub-Zero," Stan says. "Cheryl did it easy."

Richie scowls.

"Yeah, probably because he rigged the fucking game!"

"No, he didn't," Bill says, also smiling.

"Please, you're just saying that because you like him," Richie retorts.

"Yeah, huh-he's a nuh-nice guh-guy," Bill says. "And luh-like the ruh-rest of us, you wuh-wanted huh-him to wuh-walk us huh-home."

"Safety in numbers," Richie says, somewhat defensively. "That doesn't mean I like the guy."

"You do, you just won't admit it," Eddie says.

"He's alright," Mike adds. "I mean, really, how many guys do you know would treat animals as good as he does? How many guys do you know would stand up to Bowers like that?"

"Very little, almost nobody," Ben says, shrugging slightly. "I like him, too. Seeing Gia... it was..."

"Like magic," Bill and Beverly say together.

Ben nods, though he can't help the flicker of envy he feels with how Beverly smiles at Bill even though he knows it's silly. He's pretty sure she doesn't like Bill, or at least, not like that, but still. He can't help how he feels.

But both Bill and Beverly had felt the very same awe and wonder upon the sight of Vitaly and Gia, Bill for the tiger and Beverly for the jaguar. It was an experience unlike any other. An experience you couldn't get anywhere else, because nobody else was like Robert at all. Nobody else would let animals like that roam as freely as he did, near children above all.

Stan smiles, though it dims slightly as he recalls Cheryl's reaction to the news of Esther's disappearance.

"Do..." he starts off, a note of hesitancy in his voice as he lowers his eyes, looking away, "... do you think they'll find her? Esther?"

Silence.

Absolute, sheer silence.

There is an undeniable tension that forms in the air, descending over it like a fog or a mist. A lingering sense of foreboding, a coldness seeping in even though it's nearing the middle of summer. Not the middle of winter. Stan flinches and grimaces from the unease he knows he's arisen back into his friends, but he can't help it.

"I mean... they still haven't found Veronica, and she went missing all the way back on Halloween night," Bill looks away at that, his frown deepening, the boy not daring to look his little brother in the eye. "And... Betty and Ed... Patrick, too... and now Esther..."

Bill does glance at Dorsey then, that question lingering on the tip of his tongue, but he keeps his silence. If anything, Robert saved Dorsey's life that day. Whatever happened to Richard Macklin simply happened. And for all Bill really knew, Ed, Betty, and Veronica were all probably runaways. He didn't know about Patrick and for good reason, he didn't give a shit, but still. Esther he was unsure about, because of what happened with Cheryl.

He looks back at the Pomeranian, Pennywise, lying in Mike's basket. The dog is staring at him with those strange eyes so alike Robert's, almost identical, as though he was staring into Robert's eyes rather than a dog's. Though the Pomeranian's eyes were brown rather than starlight blue. Bill doesn't know, and honestly, he doesn't want to think about it, and for that, he feels bad.

"Muh-Maybe this'll buh-be duh-different," Bill says, though he doesn't really beleive his own words. "Muh-Maybe they wuh-will fuh-find huh-her."

Richie shrugs.

"Kind of ruined our theory though, didn't it?" he asks. "About the kids just running away with the circus to get out of Derry?"

Mike shrugs.

"They might still have," Beverly says, frowning. "I mean, they wouldn't exactly show their faces around the circus in this town if their parents were looking for them, would they? And if the police came looking... or someone told..."

"I duh-don't think so," Bill says. "I duh-don't think they ruh-ran away with the circus. Ruh-Robert is staying. If they wuh-wanted out of Duh-Derry then they would huh-have wuh-went with a circus that truh-travels."

There is a hint of hope lingering in the air at the knowledge that the clown is staying and despite what happened in the trailer, Beverly smiles, too. Of course, none of them smile as hopefully as Bill does.

"Usually it's the reverse," Richie says grimly. "Usually when people come to Derry, they walk right the fuck back out. And the people that are already here can't wait to get out."

"Yuh-Yeah, wuh-well," Bill begins, "there are guh-good things to stay in Duh-Derry fuh-for." He glances at Georgie, though his mind is on the clown as well. Richie glances at Eddie and Ben at Beverly. "Muh-Maybe fuh-for huh-his buh-birthday wuh-we can suh-see a muh-movie this suh-summer."

"Movies aren't cheap, Bill," Eddie says.

"Yuh-Yeah, buh-but huh-he huh-has a muh-muh-movie theater," Bill says.

Wait, no, that wasn't right.

Theaters.

Plural.

The Pomeranian, really Robert, tilts his head with confusion, staring intently at Bill.

How on earth did he know that?

Robert has yet to tell him that information... or had he told him and he simply forgot? It was unlikely, for he doesn't recall... unless Pamela had said something, but Bill had been with him all day, not her... He would remember telling Bill about something like that... even if his memory was starting to go... unless he'd forgotten...

Just as he forgot her name and his own, he thinks morbidly...

Shiny eyes, in the shapes of black buttons, gleam inside of the storm drain they pass by, though it isn't the drain on the corner of Jackson and Witcham. Robert is too busy staring at Bill with confusion, unable to remember if he told the boy that information during their piano session or not, to notice a sharp Chesire cat grin forming in the shape of impossibly large, dangerously sharp, pearly white teeth in the shadows of the sewers.

The Pomeranian, Robert, tenses when Mike starts to pet his head, a habit the boy had formed when he was younger and Mr. Chips was still alive, a habit that would undoubtedbly continue when Little Chips was big enough to leave the circus and Pamela's constant care. He flinches under Mike's touch, though it's timid and kind, as his scar starts to pulse and throb, beating like its own heart. He knows that some grudges can last forever.

He yips unhappily and climbs out of the basket, nearly jumping onto the ground but Mike catches him in midair.

"Careful," Mike says, setting him down.

He just snorts as he heads for Bill.

In another form, it's hard to...

Mike just smiles as Bill stops, the other Losers also stopping to watch the scene before them.

"He definitely likes you," Mike says, not at all bothered by the dog's reaction.

Richie rolls his eyes as Bill picks the dog up.

"At least he's got one cute dog," he says as Bill stares at the Pomeranian and it stares right back up at him, tilting its head sideways.

"I really hope he doesn't have fleas,"Eddie mutters.

"He duh-doesn't, Eds," Bill says as he holds the Pomeranian with one arm, his hand on its chest, his palm on the scar, and pushes his bike forward while holding the dog.

The pain under his scar stops.

It isn't long really before the Losers split up. They walk in a group, however, flanked by the circus dogs. They walk Beverly home first, then Ben heads for home. Richie, Stan, and Eddie all head towards Eddie's house for the night since Eddie thinks his mom will be happier to know he stayed with a group rather than chanced walking alone with what happened to Esther. Bill offers to walk with Mike home, but the boy politely declines, since he knows about Bill's ridiculous curfew with his dad and because he lives just outside of town.

Bill would be grateful for Mike's thoughtfulness, if the truth was that he didn't want to go home himself.

Bill is the one who walks Dorsey home, along with Georgie and the dogs.

"Thanks again," the boy says as he heads up the steps of the front porch.

"Nuh-No p-p-puh-pruh-problem," Bill says quietly, frowning as he spots Mrs. Corcoran staring at him from the window. He tenses when the Pomeranian starts growling unhappily, realizing that the Pomeranian was glaring at the woman. Bill sighs as he gives the dog a little shake, "Huh-Hey, stuh-stop that..."

It doesn't stop the little creature from baring his teeth as Mrs. Corcoran disappears behind the curtain, its upper lip curling into a vicious snarl. Bill frowns at the sight.He knows dogs and little kids, babies, are good judges of character, but...

He looks at Dorsey.

"Cuh-Can I ask yuh-you suh-suh-something?" he asks, his voice low without meaning to, as though he's worried Mrs. Corcoran will overhear.

Dorsey grins at him, a few of his teeth missing. Bill has no idea that they were punched out by Macklin before the man disappeared. Bill also has no idea that Dorsey hasn't had this much attention since Ed was still alive.

"Yuh-Your stuh-stepduh-dad," he starts almost nervously. "Wuh-Wuh-Where'd he guh-go?"

"He left," Dorsey says, frowning now. He looks sad and... guilty? "Mommy says it's my fault for letting the clown talk to him..."

Bill frowns, too.

"Wuh-Was it Ruh-Robert?" he asks. At Dorsey's confusion, he corrects himself, "Puh-Puh-Puh-Puh --" he grits his teeth.

"You mean, Pennywise?" Dorsey asks, smiling fondly.

He really liked the card tricks the clown performed, not that he knew how the clown did it, unless he really was a magical clown. The Pomeranian stares into nothing at all, an almost annoyed look on his face.

"Yuh-Yeah, huh-him," Bill says quietly.

"Yeah, it was!" Dorsey says cheerfully. "Daddy got mad at me for climbing in the garage and when he grabbed his hammer, his favorite one, the clown took it from him and told him to walk with him!" Dorsey's frown returns, however. "Do you think the clown scared him off?"

 _Buddy_ , _I did a lot more than scare him off_ , Robert thinks grimly.

Bill shrugs before scowling as he realizes what Dorsey told him. He has a feeling that, if anything, the clown told Macklin to get lost and never put his hands on Dorsey again. That probably applied to Ed, too.

"It's nuh-not yuh-your fuh-fault, Duh-Duh-Dorsey," Bill says, frowning at the little boy that reminds him so much of Georgie, who he thinks might've met a deadly fate had it not been for the clown. "If yuh-your duh-dad luh-left it's buh-buh-because he knew you'd be... buh-better off without him."

"Mommy doesn't think so," Dorsey says quietly. "She --"

"Dorsey!"

All three boys jump as Jonesy and Freddie bark, both dogs suddenly tense, spines arched almost catlike, their hackles rising as they bare their teeth. Bill flinches under the scrutinizing stare Mrs. Corcoran is giving him, a dirty look in her eyes as she looks him up and down. She hisses, pointing her arm at the house as though she's telling a dog to do something. Not her son.

"Dorsey, get in here!" she barks, almost doglike.

The dogs take offense to that.

Dorsey lowers his head. He smiles at the Denbrough brothers that remind him of himself and Ed before his big brother went missing.

"Bye, you guys," he says, walking up to the house.

Bill doesn't miss how he lowers his head as he passes by Mrs. Corcoran's hands, as though worried she'll smack him right upside the back of it. She would have, too, had it not been for the Denbrough brothers standing in front of her house, as well as the dogs.

She glares at Bill, a stoniness in her eyes that he doesn't think he appreciates. She steps forward, ignoring the dogs. She sneers in his face, turning her nose up at him.

"You stay away from my boy, Mr. Denbrough," she tells him, sneering almost nastily at him. "I've heard of you, and I don't want a nasty boy like _you_ anywhere near him. Tell that to your clown, too."

She spits at his feet, just barely missing his shoes, before turning away, Bill having no idea that she was honestly thinking about smacking him in the mouth. As though he was a tramp.

Bill lowers his eyes, which are stingy and watery now.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Georgie asks, confused if not defensive.

Who was Mrs. Corcoran to talk to his big brother that? Just because she was an adult didn't mean she got to say mean things like that... And it wasn't Dorsey's fault if Mr. Macklin did leave...

"Nuh-Nothing, Guh-Georgie," Bill says, flinching as Mrs. Corcoran slams the door, making it rattle on its hinges. "It duh-doesn't muh-mean anything..."

The Pomeranian sticks its wet nose, black and shiny, into his chin, and he smiles slightly even as he turns away, well aware of the fact that Mrs. Corcoran was still sneering at him even inside the house. He supposes that's better than the alternative, which would be Dorsey getting punished for something he didn't deserve.

Pennywise stares at the bitch with a coldness unlikea ny other in his eyes, the clown thinking that Chucky might actually get his wish. She shakes her head at Bill's retreating form, disappearing behind the curtains once more.

Not long after, Georgie is on the back of Bill's bike, Jonesy and Freddie on either side of them, while he holds the Pomeranian with his other hand. They head home, though for Bill, every peddle forward feels like he's marching towards some sort of doom. Or perhaps that was an overreaction, but he felt like his dad wasn't going to be in a good mood. Especially since he was sort of late.

A few minutes but who would really care?

His dad would.

Bill lowers his eyes after he spots his dad standing on the porch, a dark gleam in Zack's pale eyes that match his son's. He doesn't miss how his dad notices the three dogs with them, and he certainly doesn't miss how his dad scoffs and sneers at each one. The Pomeranian in Bill's arm most of all. The boy also doesn't miss the tense atmosphere rising, all three dogs staring back at his dad with equally dirty looks.

"Guh-Go inside, Guh-Georgie," Bill tells him quietly.

He can already practically smell the tension in the air, the sense of dread only growing. Blossoming like a poisonous plant or making a beautiful flower wilt. Georgie frowns at him, not really wanting to but he doesn't want to argue with Bill, and he too knows their dad is in a bad mood... He goes up the porch, Zack barely even giving him a passing glance, and Jonesy goes to follow him but the Pomeranian lets out a little yipping noise.

To Bill, it even sounds like;

 _Don't even think about it_.

Jonesy turns back, his brown eyes filled with emotion.

The Pomeranian shakes his little head at him and the Great Pyrenees outright whines. Almost like a pouty child, but with how he jerks his head at Zack, it was obvious he simply didn't want Georgie and Bill anywhere near the bastard. The Pomeranian shakes his head once more and Jonesy barks indignantly. Freddie just shakes his own head.

"Nice accessory," Zack says, somewhat snidely, and Bill is reminded painfully of Connor.

This is part of why he doesn't like Georgie seeing his dad... act like this.

"They're the c-circus duh-dogs," Bill says softly, going to put the Pomeranian down.

It's eyes almost bulge out of its head and it acts like the puppy, wiggling and flailing around unhappily and yelping as though scorned and Bill sighs as he holds it back up. It even sticks its face into his neck. As cute as that was, Bill can't help the uneasy feeling settling in his gut, as though he's ate something that is starting to disagree with him, and he's about to be sick.

"They're the cluh-clown's," Bill adds, though he knows it's a bad idea.

Zack just scoffs.

So just because he tells the clown that he can't come to his house, he decides to send his dogs instead?

"Any particular reason why he'd want to send them with you?" he asks, still sneering.

Bill frowns.

"Esther," he says, noting his dad's confusion at the new name. "Esther Suh-Sinclair is muh-muh-missing... Buh-Butch Buh-Bowers showed up asking about huh-her..." He holds the Pomeranian close, scratching his fingers along the back of its neck, as he glares at the ground, his eyes watery and upset. He doesn't have the guts to glare at his dad, however. "Suh-Said yuh-you were wruh-wrong about the c-clown, tuh-too."

"I had every reason to ask, Bill," Zack says, almost angrily.

What a moron, he thinks, about Butch. Was the idiot so drunk these days that he was stupid enough to tell someone where the tip came from?

"You know, it's funny, I would've had him look into it, but I didn't have a last name," Zack says. "Care to tell me what it is? I feel like you know."

Bill shakes his head at once.

"It wuh-wasn't huh-him. Yuh-You only cuh-came up with that buh-because of yuh-yesterday," he says scornfully. He flinches under his dad's glare.

"Don't tell me what I did, Bill," Zack says coldly. "But what are the odds that Butch would throw in a random name, like Gray, and find out that the only other Bob Gray there was _died_ years ago?"

"I know that," Bill says, almost resentfully. "Yuh-You huh-had no ruh-right to luh-look into the clown luh-like that."

"Oh, didn't I?" Zack says, sneering. "Let me guess, he told you?"

"Yuh-Yeah," Bill says. "Buh-Bob Gruh-Gray died yuh-years ago."

"And they never solved the case," Zack throws in. "He didn't tell you that part, did he? One of the most grisly murders Derry had ever seen. His daughter kept it to herself, whatever happened."

"Mrs. Kersh," Bill says. Zack shakes his head, unimpressed. "Nuh-No, huh-he didn't." And with all the sarcasm he can muster, though his knees are trembling with fear. Of his father. Of what his father tried to start with Robert, using Butch Bowers, a police officer, to do it. "And I can't imagine _why_."

The way Robert had spoken of Bob Gray had been with such sadness, as though Bob Gray was a close friend of his, and Bill hadn't a doubt that was surely the case, and to know how horribly Bob Gray died, as Robert had said... Well, his dad said it was one of the most grisly murders, and if Mrs. Kersh kept what really happened to herself, then who could blame her? Who could blame Robert for not wanting to talk about it? Who the hell was his dad to stick his nose into Robert's business?

"Don't get fucking smart with me, Bill," Zack says icily.

"Wuh-Well, yuh-you duh-don't know huh-his story and yuh-you tried to throw that in muh-my fuh-face," Bill spits.

Zack shakes his head.

"Put the dog down and get in the house," he says, his tone leaving no room for arguments.

Bill sighs as he tries to set the Pomeranian down a second time, and it whines just the same even as he walks towards his dad. Zack rolls his eyes at the sight, then stares scathingly at the doll in Bill's other hand. The doll that isn't a copy of the boy. And instead, it's clearly a copy of _Robert_.

It looks different, more like a clown, more like a Pennywise than a Robert but _seriously_?

"Throw that thing away, Bill," he says firmly.

"I wuh-wuh-one it by puh-puh-popping buh-balloons," Bill says, shaking his head. "It's muh-mine."

He's about to take it from him, maybe even see if he can smash it's head against the railing on the porch and see if it's porcelain or plastic, though judging by how carefully Bill holds it, he would guess it's the former if he didn't know for a fact Bill was purposefully trying to keep it from him for that very reason. He's going to take it, snatch it even, and maybe even rip the head clean off, but the Pomeranian suddenly starts barking at him, actually making a lunge for his hand. Bill flinches and holds the dog back, but it's more for the dog's protection than it is his dad's. Jonesy and Freddie react, barking violently.

"Are those things even trained?" Zack spits, having never been fond of dogs himself.

"Yuh-Yes," Bill says quickly, swallowing as he holds the Pomeranian away from his dad, hoping against hope that Jonesy and Freddie won't attack. It's a lie, but his dad doesn't need to know that. He doesn't trust his dad not to try and hurt the dogs... "They're truh-trained..."

Zack shakes his head with disbelief, feeling angry because he knows Bill is lying to his face, and he glares down at the rather ugly little thing in Bill's arm, seeing how it was glaring right back up at him.

He knows for a fact that dogs and babies can read people quite well, but it's almost unnerving (actually, it's _really_ unnerving), with how the dog is glaring up at him with those big brown eyes. They glint as they catch his staring, and it bares his little teeth, which are sharper than he thinks dog's teeth are supposed to be, and it's seemingly snarling at him, but he is certain he can see the makings of a demented, wicked grin...

... the kind of grin a clown would grin...

... a kind of Pennywise grin...

The grin stretches at the stink of fear permeating the air...

Only it's from Zack rather than Bill...

... and it's almost like the sweet fragrance of a _perfume_...

Just desserts, the clown thinks.

"Put the dog down, Bill," Zack orders him, not liking the frightened crack in his own voice.

Bill sighs dejectedly as he puts the Pomeranian down, perfectly aware of the unhappy huff it gives him. Jonesy steps forward, Freddie flanking him, as Zack steps closer to Bill. Both dogs are growling almost savagely, but Bill knows it's because they're protective. Not aggressive.

"Bill..."

His tone is warning, Bill well aware that he would be the one in trouble if the dogs attack his dad.

"Go on, go home," Bill pleas, not even stuttering.

The circus dogs whine but Bill knows his dad wouldn't hesitate to have them put down. He knows his dad would even chance shooting them himself with the gun he keeps in the safe in his office. And even if he didn't do it, he'd make sure Butch Bowers would see to it that the dogs would be put down. Jonesy, Freddie, and the Pomeranian. And Bill dreaded the idea of it, the mere thought of getting teh animals and Robert into trouble. More than his dad already tried to do.

The Pomeranian barks suddenly, but not at Zack and definitely not at Bill. It stands in front of Bill's feet, staring up at the Great Dane and the Greay Pyrenees, both dogs more than capable of ripping its' tiny little self apart if they felt like it. Oh, if Bill only knew... Freddie barks right back, much louder and far deeper, and the Pomeranian yips right back, almost as though he was scolding them. Both bigger dogs whine and snarl before giving Bill one last unhappy look.

"Go," Bill begs them.

The Pomeranian yips again, as though agreeing with Bill while simultaneously ordering around the other dogs.

Jonesy just whines and Freddie snarls, both snapping at the air before they trot off the porch steps. Bill watches with sadness as both start to leave, their furry heads hung low with disappointment. And anger.

"The clown gets to have all the fun," Jonesy mutters.

"Wanker will get his," Freddie says darkly.

"Soon enough isn't now," Jonesy retorts.

Bill stares as they depart, flinching as his dad puts his hand on his shoulder, his fingers digging in. _Deep_. The Pomeranian turns at the sound of Bill's pained whimper, it's hackles rising as it snarls.

"You hang out with some weird people, Bill," Zack says simply.

"They're ruh-really nuh-nice, duh-dad," Bill says quietly, trying to pull away from his dad's touch.

An almost inhuman screech nearly escapes the Pomeranian as Zack invades Bill's personal space, but a satisfied sneer forms on its furry little face despite the fact that the man is _smelling_ his son, Bill's discomfort growing horribly. Zack's face contorts, not smelling the sweet, floral scent of the perfume, but instead he smells --

"Jesus Christ, what'd you do? You roll around in cotton candy?" he asks, grimacing with evident disgust. Bill smells like he's been at the circus, alright. He reeks of hot dog water, stinks of popcorn, buttery and salty, smells of peanuts, and he never knew the smell of cotton candy could be so _pungent_. His mind goes to the clown, the fucker's painted face the first thing he thinks of, and his eyes harden. The Pomeranian lunges, "Bill, did you --"

Bill jumps at the sound of fabric tearing, but that's nothing compared to the sharp sound of a high-pitched yelping. He lets out hos own high-pitched, sharp sound, voicing his upset and his _hurt_ , though it wasn't him who just got _kicked_.

Who just got punted like a _football_ off of the porch.

Who was currently falling down the steps, sharp yips and yelps echoing on his way down.

Bill doesn't even think as he starts to go after the poor dog, but he cries out in pain when his dad grabs his wrist, fingers digging in and constricting around it like a serpent. His bones are delicate enough as it is, and by God they feel like they're scraping over each other, beginning to bend and _break_. He's about to kick his dad, he's sure, right in the shin as retaliation, but his dad's voice makes him still, his breath ghosting over the back of Bill's neck.

"Don't even think about it," Zack says, his tone warning.

Bill's eyes water as the Pomeranian stands, shaking itself off. Strangely enough, it isn't even limping, as though getting kicked across the porch and falling down the steps hadn't even fazed it in the slightest. It shakes its head and stares up at Bill, seemingly frowning at him.

"Yuh-You duh-didn't huh-have to duh-do that," Bill says.

Tears stream as his dad pulls on his arm.

Painfully.

It isn't the wrist that the ticket seller had slashed him on, but it fucking _hurts_.

His dad turns him around so that he's facing him, grabbing hold of Bill's face as he did that night after the incident at the grocery store. His fingers dig into Bill's cheeks, the boy whimpering.

More out of fear than pain, but still.

"When I tell you that the clown isn't welcome here, that extends to his pets, too," Zack says darkly. He gives Bill's head a firm shake, to which the boy cries out and the Pomeranian snarls.

Violently.

Viciously.

Monstrously.

"And just so we're clear, that also extends to anyone else from that circus. Anyone who works for him, or anyone he knows for that matter. I better not see another dog or cat or whatver the fuck he's got on my lawn. I will not hesitate to shoot it, Bill."

"Even though Esther's muh-muh-missing?" Bill snaps, acting braver than he really felt. "That's why he did it. Wuh-We wuh-weren't teh only wuh-ones to tuh-take a duh-dog, our gruh-group was just the buh-biggest. And wuh-we huh-had Duh-Dorsey wuh-with us. Mrs. Vuh-Vuh-Vorhees wuh-went wuh-with Cheryl to take her huh-home and I know Buh-Buh-Bowers tuh-took Bobby wuh-with him. And a couple other kuh-kids, tuh-too."

"What did I tell you about getting attached, Bill?" Zack asks as the Pomeranian darts back up the steps, clearly gearing for a fight despite his smaller size. "The clown is --"

"He's staying," Bill says, almost triumphantly. "Huh-He suh-said so. He's staying all suh-summer! The huh-house is his! Adn yuh-yeah, he tuh-told me!"

"Don't yell at me, you little --"

He spots the little hound from Hell and kicks him a second time, another sharp yelp escaping it despite the fact that razor sharp teeth were about to sink into Zack's Achilles heel.

"Stop it!" Bill begs.

"Get that fucker away from my house, Bill," Zack tells him. "I will shoot it and you'll get to be the one to tell the clown his dog's dead."

And with that, he lets go of Bill's face and his wrist, much to the boy's relief. He doesn't have the heart to glare at his dad as the man storms into the house, though he does flinch when the door slams, rattling on its hinges. He looks over at the Pomeranian, which is sitting down now, staring up at him with a glum look.

Bill starts to sob.

"I'm suh-so suh-sorry," Bill murmurs tearfully as he bends down to pick it back up.

He sniffles into its fur as it presses its wet little nose into the column of his neck. He lets out a watery laugh, because how strange; the dog smells like cotton candy and peanuts, hotdogs and even popcorn...

Smells just like the clown.

Like Robert.

Bill scratches the Pomeranian on the back of the neck, guessing by the wagging of its tail that it felt like a heavenly massage. Bill looks down at him and the dog stares right back up, big blues in its little head instead of the brown eyes Bill thought it had... He smiles, disbelieving.

"Yuh-You're suh-so suh-suh-small but you tried to buh-bite huh-him," he says, smiling. He knows that if the dog had bitten his dad, it would've gotten much worse than a kick, but he can't help but smile. "Suh-Since wuh-went duh-do dogs like Fruh-Freddie and Juh-Jonesy luh-listen to you?"

For obvious reasons, the dog doesn't answer.

Reluctantly, Bill speaks;

"Guh-Go huh-home," Bill says quietly.

The Pomeranian simply blinks at him, its eyes gazing in two different directions before it rests its chin on Bill's shoulder, its nose tickling the column of Bill's neck. It's as though the dog is telling him, "I am home."

Bill chuckles softly, smiling disbelievingly. It felt as though he had never really left the circus at all, as though Robert was with him right now, an idea he was particulary fond of. He stares down at the dog, Pennywise, and its little tongue pokes out --

"Oh!"

Bill quickly wipes his mouth with his hand, spluttering with disgust and yet shaking with laughter. He covers his mouth with the palm of his hand, especially as the Pomeranian keeps giving him puppy dog kisses.

Miles away...

Her head hung low, her hair hiding her face, Cheryl Lamonica walks alone through the park. Beneath her locks of hair, there is an expression of sheer, absolute misery on her little face. Her cheeks are red and blotchy, stained with her tears from sobbing her heart out. She doesn't feel as though she can cry anymore, because her eyes are seemingly throbbing inside of her skull, but it _hurts_.

Richie Tozier had been nice to her, along with Stanley Uris and Eddie Kaspbrak. Pamela Voorhees as well, who acted more like a mother to her in just a few minutes than her own mother ever did for her in her whole life, that she could remember, and while she knew that the clown and the Losers' Group or whatever it was Richie said they called themselves were nice enough, it just wasn't the same. Nobody could replace Veronica and Esther.

She had never felt so lonely before.

She remembers Halloween so well. Veronica was the one who came up with the idea that the three of them could be fairies and princesses together and she vageuly remembers seeing the Denbrough brothers as well, both boys having been dressed up as clowns, their faces painted like clowns, too. Only, their costumes had been nothing like Pennywise's.

Or Robert's.

Whichever.

Whatever.

She sighs as she stares miserably around the park, where she, as a little girl, had first met Esther Sinclair and Veronica Grogan. She had gotten her ice cream, chocolate and vanilla swirl, and Esther and Veronica had gone up to get their ice creams, before Veronica had playfully shoved Esther and accidentally (though it hadn't really been an accident, not that Cheryl knew that) shoved Esther into Cheryl. What was an accident was that Cheryl had dropped her ice cream on the ground, scoop and cone.

Of course, Esther being Esther, had given Cheryl her ice cream as an apology.

The three of them had been the best of friends ever since.

She sniffles and sighs heavy, her chest feeling hollow, as though her emotions had been scooped out. Her lips tremble...

... scooped out of her like a scoop of ice cream...

She knows it's impossibly stupid, to be out here by herself when the sun was just starting to set, especially since so many kids were missing, as well as Richard Macklin. Veronica, Betty Ripsom, Ed Corcoran, Patrick Hockstetter (though she didn't miss that one too much, he was a big bully), and then the one adult.

She can't help but wonder who on earth would be making kids disappear like this.

She doubts Veronica and Esther would be runaways, especially at 13, and especially when Esther had something she wanted to tell Cheryl... Ed was hard to say, because she knew Richard Macklin had been abusive to him and his little brother, their mom letting it happen, but that didn't explain Patrick's disappearance either. Nothing explained anyone's disappearances.

The only thing she could think of was that the clown had made his debut back in October, when he met Georgie Denbrough. She wonders then if Georgie might've gone missing too, that day back in October, before even Veronica had gone missing...

She realizes then that nobody had gone missing this year until after news about the clown had spread. And although she couldn't help but think of the fact that she had yet to see any of the missing kids at the circus, she wonders...

She gasps when she hears the rustling of bushes behind her.

Her heart skips a beat.

And then it beats too quickly.

She slowly looks behind herself, ever so slightly turning to look, barely able to see in the beginnings of darkness, only to see an impossibly large shadow emerging from behind one of the trees near her. A tall figure, and the jingling of little bells, most likely silver in color, and the large ruff around the person's neck, though masked by shadows, are quite damning.

His eyes glow in the shadows.

They aren't at all the beautiful starlight blue Cheryl knows Bill finds charming.

Two little dots of silver, unearthly things, gleam in the darkness like stars.

Yet rather than being awed by the curious wonder, she's filled with an indescrible horror.

A terror unlike any other.

A dousing of icy cold...

... _fear_.

It's the man.

 _No_ , she thinks, trapped in a fear induced trance. _It's not a man_.

 _It_...

 ** _IT_**.

She turns towards him, a high sound of her fright escaping past her lips as her heart pounds in her chest. Her insides are seemingly frosting over, stilling inside of her body, her blood stopping in her veins...

For such a tall person, not a sound is made as they step closer and closer...

She backs up as the person approaches. The both of them are slow in their pace, a cold sweat already forming on her skin as the hairs on her body stand, her stomach seemingly falling out of her body. She trembles, head to toe, her eyes wide with fear.

She knows the difference between the predator and the prey.

The stalker and the stalked.

The cat and the mouse.

The living and the dead.

"Go away," she says quickly, the cracks in her voice giving her away.

He doesn't listen, and his footsteps begin to echo, each one like thunder in her ears, as he comes close enough that he's nearly looming over her. She almost cries out, a sharp gasp escaping her, as she feels the leg of the park bench behind her touching her heel. She gives it a quick glance, beyond scared, before gasping a short, raspy thing as he steps out of teh shadows.

His face is still painted, his eyes starlight blue, but she can see through it.

She can see the glints of pure silver...

The hints of _otherworldly orange_...

Colors of _death_.

A painted face was just another form of a mask, wasn't it?

A revelation settles upon her.

She voices it, whispering;

"You're a monster."

Tears stream like twin rivers, flowing endlessly, down her cheeks, dripping from her chin and onto her shirt, leaving behind little damp dots.

"It was you, wasn't it? You're the one who took Esther!" she cries out, nearly screaming. Yet not a single person besides the two of them is in the area. She is alone in this. "And Ed! Betty! Patrick and Veronica, too! Would you have taken Georgie?" She sobs. "You're just pretending to be our friend so you can get closer and pick us off one by one, aren't you!?"

He doesn't answer. She doesn't expect him to.

It's unnerving, however, with how he just keeps staring at her with unreadable eyes.

"You can't take me!" she bellows. "You're a monster!"

She screams, the sound of an animal that knows it's trapped with no way out. An animalistic sound, quite like the cry of a rabbit just before it surrenders to its fate. Surrenders itself to the jaws of a ravenous wolf. The clown knows it's her fear, of her death, of what happened to Esther and Veronica, that pushes her to say her next words.

That doesn't mean they hurt any less, however.

Time slows. Or perahps, altogether, it simply stops.

The clown stills, his eyes widening.

With _hurt_.

"You are an _animal_! You are a _beast_!" she cries out, the light in her eyes _shining_. "You are a _monster_!

That last word echoes.

It echoes throughout the park, making the leaves on the trees shiver. It echoes in the clown's head, repeating itself like a mantra, but rather than bringing him inner peace, a sense of clarity and tranquility, it only brings him pain. Under his scar, most of all.

 _Monster_!

 _Monster_!

 _Monster_!

She closes her eyes, sobbing as she lowers her head, waiting for the hit to come.

A meek little prey waiting for the killing blow.

The look on his painted face is that of a Sad Clown.

He reaches into his doublet and pulls out the item he found by the stream along with Esther's doll.

"You should have this."

A sharp sound, high in pitch, a pinch of confusion.

"Huh?"

Cheryl opens her eyes, lifting her head, seeing not at all a dangerous weapon in the clown's hand, but rather, a sealed envelope with a little heart in the upper right corner.

"It's a love letter," the clown says. "For you."

Her breath shudders as the iciness of fear seemingly melts from her body, thawing like the snow in the spring. She lifts her hand, which is trembling like a leaf in the autumn, unable to stop, and with twitching fingers, she takes the letter from him. Her lips part with shock, her eyes widening, as she recognizes Esther's sloppy scrawl, though it was written in cursive. That meant Esther, when she wrote this letter, had tried to make it less sloppy, choppy, and honestly tried to make it readable.

The clown lowers his head.

"I know," he says softly, almost regretfully. Daresay mournfully. "An older guy dressed in a creepy clown suit following a young girl through the park when it's nearing nighttime. I didn't want to give it to you at the circus in front of all of those kids. In front of Connor or even Butch most of all."

She stares at the letter and then looks up at him, surprise in her eyes.

No longer does the sweet stink of fear linger in the air.

The clown and the girl sit together on the park bench, though there is a distance between the two of them. Although that was more of the clown's doing than Cheryl's.

She stares down at the letter, holding it with both hands, reading Esther's halfway decent handwriting. Her heart flutters at the sight of three little hearts in the spots where the i's in both of their names would be.

 _To Cheryl Lamonica_ , _from Esther Sinclair_.

"You wanted to give this to me?" she asks softly, voicing her disbelief and her shock as she glances at him.

His face looks so sad, almost as upset as she back at the circus when Butch Bowers showed up to declare Esther missing even before it had been a full 24 hours.

"Esther didn't get the chance to do it herself," Robert says softly. "And it was partially my fault yesterday that she didn't do it then. I startled her when she was trying to slip it into your backpack before the two of you left." He sighs. "I'm sorry for scaring you. Maybe it would ahve been better if I never said anything at all."

Cheryl shakes her head, a watery smile on her face.

"No, no, it's fine. I, I apprecaite it," she says. "It takes a real specifal kind of guyto creepily stalk another person, no matter their age, just to deliver someone else's love letter. Don't you think?"

He stays silent.

She loses her smile.

That word echoes in the both of their heads.

 _Monster_!

 _Monster_!

 _Monster_!

She lowers her eyes.

"I'm sorry,"she says quietly. "All those things I said... I was just scared and... it wasn't cool of me to say those things..."

Robert says nothing.

"But you're a good person!" Cheryl says, smiling hopefully. "I'll make sure everyone knows just how good you really are!" She frowns slightly, sniffling. "Please... I'm so sorry... about what I said."

"It's fine, Cheryl," Robert says softly. "Just forget about it. There's no need."

"But why?" Cheryl asks, somewhat confused, but mostly regretful.

Her words had been so hurtful, and being afraid of the clown was no excuse. Because she knows. She knows that she hurt the clown's feeling. That she hurt Robert's feelings. Beyond deeply. She was quite sure her words had made him feel as though something had stabbed him in the chest.

Literally speaking.

"You really are a good guy, aren't you?" Cheryl whispers breathlessly.

Her eyes are glassed over, watery and pink, her lips quivering with immeasurable sadness and loneliness but there was a bit of shocked awe as well. Richie's words from earlier in the bathroom, about how Esther would find another way to tell her what it was she wanted to say, echo in her head. It was really as though Esther had found another way to do so, even if she couldn't do it in person... She sighs as she realizes then that Veronica had shoved Esther into her that day for this very reason, that Veronica had decided to let the two of them go together that night on Halloween, another attempt to get Esther to admit her feelings...

Her heart aches for her friends, missing Veronica and Esther so very much. She regrets not rejecting Veronica's offer and regrets not convincing the both of them to have a sleepover at her house, that night on Halloween. She has not a clue that the clown himself regrets ever going out on Halloween night, especially when he had been so very hungry that night. On the brink of abject starvation.

The clown stands and goes to leave, lowering his eyes.

He can't stop the ominous yellowing of his eyes, though he isn't trying to intimidate Cheryl and he's not trying to threaten her in the slightest. Not anymore, not ever again. Yellow becomes orange, his eyes glowing, the color swirling in the orbs deep inside of his skull. His heart stings and his scar hurts as he recalls Esther telilng him those very same words. He remembers that conversation.

 _You should tell her_ , _face to face_ , _not in a letter_ , he had told Esther.

 _Yeah_ , _but I've never been good at talking_. _Kind of like Richie even though he talks a lot_. _I'll tell her before this summer is up_. _I'll tell her tomorrow_ , _if your lion dances_ , and she had smiled at him, her eyes shining. For he hadn't judged her, as most others would have. Her final words to him, her parting of ways;

 _You're a good guy_ , _Mr. Gray_.

Esther had told him those very words. And how had he repaid her? By ignoring her in her time of need. By causing trouble with Zack and causing the bastard to smack Bill over a stupid card. By letting her disappear into thin air. Whether it was Gan, the female turtle, or Freddy, or some other being he was unaware of, he didn't know. And for that, he felt guilty.

"I'm not," he says sorrowfully.

"Huh?"

"I'm not a good guy at all," Robert says softly, nearly whispering. "Beverly and Bill, Georgie, and now you, all seem tot hink so. Esther thought so, too. That was the last thing she said to me. Right before she disappeared."

"Oh..."

Cheryl sighs.

"You didn't have to deliver this to me... you could have just thrown it away or even..." she frowns slightly. "Why did you give it to the police? When they came?"

"Would you have given the letter to Butch Bowers of all people?" he asks, not cruelly or mockingly, just plainly. The answer was obvious. "Esther left it beyond," he says, somewhat truthful. "Butch would have ripped it up himself, whether or not it was evidence. Whether or not he would have told you about it is up for debate. He might have, just to spit in your face and call you something hurtful. Or he might not have, and would have just whispered about you to his son and nephw."

"Yeah," she murmurs, knowing that was true. "Well, I don't care. You're a good guy... I'm sorry..."

"Don't be," Robert says.

"But you really are a good person... I think everyone should know," she says, lowering her eyes. The guilt and regret she feels makes her insides squirm. "I said all those horrible things... I thought you were the one who... with all the missing kids... I was wrong, to think that, and to say those things.." Robert's frown deepens, "... please forgive me..."

"Forget about it, Cheryl," Robert says. "I am what I am. Esther's first love shouldn't have had to have been revealed after her..." he closes his eyes. "I would hate for Esther's first love to be revealed to a shithole town like this one. I know the police won't bother to look because so many people go missing from this town, just as i know they'd spend even less time looking if they knew about the letter... I'd hate for Esther's first love to be spit on just because it was for another girl."

Cheryl stares at him, tears streaming again.

"Both of you deserve better than that."

"So do you," she whispers.

 _No_ , Robert thinks morosely. _No_ , _I don't_. _I'm a monster_. _With or without you screaming that fact at me_. _I will always be feared and hated_. _You think I'm a good man but I'm hardly a man_ , _Cheryl_. _I may not have taken Esther_ , _but it's my fault just the same_. _I took Veronica_ , _even if it was an accident_. _And I know you've dreamt of finding your own half-eaten corpse in the sewers_. _Dreams of our shared past lives become your nightmares_. _I shouldn't be around any of you_. _I should just get rid of that entire circus_ , _send them all back to their native realities and let nature take its course_. _I'm not a man_. _I'm not even just some guy_. _Freddy was right_. _I've always been a monster_ , _a mere shape in the shadows_ , _a creature under the bed or in the slightly ajar closet_. _I'll always be a monster_. _I can't get away from it_. _Unless I_...

He knows the only alternative, the end to this lonely path he treads;

 _You'll die_ , _if you try_...

"I'm not a good man, Cheryl," he says softly.

Cheryl frowns. Her eyes shine, but with _anger_.

"You are too, goddammit!" she snaps, startling even him. "Not many people would give me Esther's letter so secretly and even if the police did, you bet your sorry ass that Butch Bowers probably would've called me a carpet cleaner or a rugh muncher or something else just as nasty! Or would have ripped it up even if it should be in evidence! You don't judge people! Not Richie and Eddie, not Esther and I... and... the kids in this town, the ones taht aren't assholes, you actually give a shit about them! Why else would you send your dogs with some of them?"

 _Of course I do_ , Robert thinks, looking away, _but it's my guilt_. _Or my delusions of grandeur that I can be someone_ , _something_ , _I'm not_. _Someone who can be loved and cherished_ , _like a friend_? _Someone like Bob Gray_? _Instead of someone who is feared and hated_ , _like an enemy_? _Someone like me_... _Bob Gray was a friendly face at the circus_ , _a fond memory that would last even as the children grew and aged_. _I am but a terrifying face_ , _a stolen thing_ , _in the shadows_ , _a childhood trauma that lingers even nearly thirty years later_.

Cheryl sniffles. Her lips quiver, and yet she stares up at her, determination in her eyes. Oh, how they _shine_.

"Whether you believe it or not, you're a good guy," she says. "And... I consider you one of my friends, and not just because your circus is awesome."

"You know," Robert says softly, his own eyes laced with sadness, like a cloth woven in tears, "other than Bill, you're the first kid to ever tell me that."

Cheryl stares at him, a sound of surprise bubbling inside.

"Those kids, everyone calls them losers but they're some of the best kids I've ever met," he says. "They're braver than they think," he adds. "They, uh, they like to swim together, at the quarry. Just in case you're interested."

Cheryl just shrugs.

"I'm not much of a swimmer, and I'd hate to insist upon myself in their friend group. I haven't been as nice to Beverly as I should have been."

"It was just a suggestion."

He knows she won't accept, just as he knows she'll be alright.

"Thank you..."

"Mm..."

A peaceful silence.

"I'll see you around, Cheryl," Robert says softly before walking away.

Cheryl just smiles, an honest thing.

"I'll see you," she whispers.

Her eyes are _shining_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Thank you once again for all the comments and kudos! The Billwise will be released soon enough! No, seriously, uh, I'm thinking Ch. 23 will be Beverly and Alvin's scene and then the quarry and ice cream (a bit of a surprise in that one)  
> \- I wanted to have the scene with Alvin and Beverly in this chapter but it took me three days to write it and not just cause of constant interruptions that messed up the date I posted it. The chapter would've been WAY too long so that might pop up in the next chapter just before the quarry scene.  
> \- I hope the other horror characters weren't OOC in this  
> \- See y'all in Chapter 23!  
> \- Let me know your thoughts in the comments below!


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Chapter twenty-three  
> \- Hope everyone's doing ok!  
> \- I was gonna have a different ending than the one I have but I'm happy. Next is Mike's birthday(the 3rd) and then the Fourth of July. Okay, so this is the quarry and ice cream and a little bit of a surprise as well. I was gonna have more but ran out of time again.  
> \- They really wasted Leroy's character in both films, I think. And since Mike's dad was dead by the events of the first film, and the timeframe is different, I'm giving Leroy the backstory William had in the book but some is my own. I have a scene in mind for way later but its a good one.  
> \- Warnings for period-typical homophobia, the hints at period-typical racism, and a warning for Zack even though he's not in this chapter.  
> \- Question: Anyone have any ideas for a Reddie scene? I mean, I'm gonna be focusing on Billwise pretty quick but I want some Reddie in there too.  
> \- Let me know what you thought of it in the comments section below, sorry for any typos I might've missed, and sorry about the date again.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" Ben asks hesitantly, nearly shy, as he and Beverly walk their bikes up to Beverly's apartment building. "I mean, I've already met him, and he didn't kill me... or beat me up. I think he likes me..."

"No, it's fine," Beverly says. "It's just embarrassing... and... it's between me and him..." she offers him a smile. "I do appreciate it, though. What you did."

"Yeah..." Ben says, sighing. He returns her smile, however. "I, uh, I don't know when it'd be possible but... I'd really like you to meet my mom. I think, maybe sometime after the clown's birthday thing?"

Her smile grows.

"I'd like that," she says honestly.

She sighs as she looks up at the building with an unreadable expression. She isn't quite sure how she's supposed to be feeling right now. Although her face, her cheek, is currently stinging with phantom pains, the echoes of the memory of being struck like some sort of bawdy garbage, some kind of tramp, linger in the dark thoughts currently plaguing her mind. She feels nauseous with unease, cold with that same sort of frightened feeling she always feels whenever she's around her father for longer than a minute. The same fear he's instilled deep within her ever since her tenth birthday, ever since she hit puberty and needed to ask for lady things. Ever since he started to douse her with her mother's perfume on her mother's birthday.

"I'll see you."

"See you," Ben says, pushing his bike away.

She sighs again as she enters the building, feeling that same sliver of uneasiness stirring in the pits of her belly. She reluctantly unlocks the door and goes in, leaving her bike propped up against the wall. Without making a sound, she shuts the door behind her, as to prolong the inevitable. She walks down the hallway, brushing her fingers along the wall as she always does, and frowns at the sight of her father sitting at the kitchen table. Her frown deepens, her heart quickening in its pacing, an unpleasant feeling of something crawling down the back of her neck making her squirm, when she spots the photograph of her mother.

It wasn't her mother's birthday, or Beverly's birthday. Otherwise known as the day her mother died. And it wasn't her parents' anniversary, or any other day her father would use as an excuse to douse her with her mother's perfume while staring longingly at the photograph of her, tears in his eyes.

Although his back was to her, and she was certain she hadn't made a peep to announce her presence, or give away the fact that she was there, her dad starts speaking to her.

"I miss her," Alvin says quietly, nearly whispering, staring at the photograph with misty eyes. "I know it's not her birthday but... your tubby friend made me think of her."

Her frown flickers into a scowl at the insult.

"I think I liked the perfume more than she did," Alvin admits. "It just... the smell always makes me think of her. It always made me happy..."

He trails off.

He sighs. Heavily. Regretfully.

"And she'd still be alive..."

Beverly tenses, closing her eyes. She waits for the hit. Not a physical one, but a blow nonetheless. Something that always _hurt_. Her lips quiver and her father scowls. He knows what she's thinking without even looking at her. And for that, he feels even worse.

"... if it weren't for that useless fucking doctor."

Beverly opens her eyes, blinking incomprehensively.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

She voices her confusion, her voice just above a whisper;

"What?"

Alvin sniffles.

He regrets everything. He feels so very guilty and so very stupid. He feels like the world's biggest asshole. His regrets and his anger, towards himself, not at Beverly, are consuming him. Almost like a tidal wave is crashing down on his emotions, daring to try and drown him. Or his emotions of self-loathing and guilt are the wave and his head is trapped underneath. He isn't fortunate enough, however, to drown in their depths. The worst part is that he knows this is exactly how he deserves to feel. He knows Elfrida would be fucking horrified to know...

"The doctor, he, uh..." he says quietly, sniffling again. "He refused to perform the C-section even though the nurse kept saying he needed to," he says, scowling at the memory even as fat tears slid down his cheeks. "He wouldn't fucking listen. The doctor knows best, my ass. I... I held her hand... the nurse did it herself when he walked away from her... She lost her job for it even though she saved your life. I held Elfrida's hand while she bled out... but she was so happy her little girl was going to make it... The nurse told her the risks, she didn't give a shit. She loved you so much."

Beverly stares.

That is nothing remotely close to the story she's heard for so many years.

His angry voice, rather than this tearful, broken one, yelling at her;

 _She **did** what she **did**_ , _because she was **embarrassed** to be **your** mother_!

Tears stream, flowing like twin rivers.

"I haven't been good to you," Alvin says. "She would be horrified to know... She'd hate me. Same as you. She'd..."

"I don't hate you," Beverly says.

Although, she isn't quite sure how true that statement is. He was her father, yes, and she was certain that she would always love him even though he hadn't been as good to her as fathers were supposed to be, but aside from all of the bad things that she'd rather forget about, he still provided for her. Put a roof over her head and clothes on her back and food in her belly and put her in school, even if she did skip a lot.

"Yeah, you do," Alvin says, knowing that was the case. He wasn't an idiot. Well, he was, but not when it came to this. "And I don't blame you. All I do is work and then I come home and I drink. I drink and I drink until I pass out drunk in my chair and you have to cover me with a blanket. The fuck kind of a father am I?"

Beverly lowers her eyes.

"And even when I'm sober, I'm an asshole," he says. He sighs, regretfully. "I shouldn't have hit you. It's no wonder you would hide Brandon's poem."

"His name is Ben," Beverly says.

"Yeah, him," he says.

He chuckles, softly. His smile is without humor, because this conversation isn't easy for him, and they shouldn't have needed to have it at all, but the Hanscom kid was pretty amusing the more that he thinks about it, even if the entire situation was beyond fucked up. The kid definitely had balls, he would give him that. Alvin knew, however, that the kid's heart was far bigger than his body.

"He told me what happened," Alvin tells her, though he has a feeling she already knows. "He looked ready to piss himself but he still admitted that he wrote the poem. He said he wrote it because he likes you. Dumbass told me his last name while he was at it and you wouldn't believe how polite he was. You can tell he isn't from Derry." He sighs again. "He showed my his yearbook page, only one signature. He told me that nobody wanted to be friends with him just because he's fat. That everyone calls him names. Had a whole list." He shakes his head. "Kid was about to start crying when he said that it wasn't your fault."

He smiles as he remembers that Ben had told him that he wanted to see the jaguar with Beverly. He remembers how Beverly had been so young, just a toddler, and had refused to let go of the bars of the jaguar's cage at the zoo. It took the promise of ice cream to get her to let go and right back she went, simply to stare.

"Was the jaguar cool?" he asks.

Beverly's lips twitch into a smile, uncharacteristic for her when speaking with her father.

How very strange.

Peculiar, even.

"Her name is Gia and... yeah," she says, smiling childishly.

"Is, uh, is the clown cool?" Alvin asks.

Her childish smile disappears almost instantly as she recalls that incident... though the clown had been nice about it... had let her stay in the circus and hadn't called her any hurtful names... and he definitely didn't take advantage of her...

"Yeah. He's cool, too," she says, smiling awkwardly.

It is beyond bizarre to be talking about the circus, about Ben, about anything at all, honestly, with her _father_ this way. She never thought she would see the day. Ever.

"He's a good one. I told him I'd kill him if he ever broke your heart," Alvin admits.

"He said that," Beverly says softly.

"I, uh, I overreacted," Alvin says. "It's obvious why you would try to hide something like that. I know you're not some... sleazy tramp. I know you're not running around with a bunch of boys... it's just... when you're a dad... and you've got a little girl... as he put it, nobody's ever going to be good enough..." He shakes his head. "I've really failed at being a dad. I'm so sorry, Bevvy."

She sniffles.

"It's okay."

"No, it isn't," Alvin says darkly, now scowling. "I've... I've seen it. I'm not the only bastard father in this shithole of a town. I know Butch beats his boy," she frowns at that, "and I know Zack does it, too. What's that one's name? The older one? Billy? I've been an asshole to you but I've never..." he groans, almost growling. "I've never _grabbed_ your face like that. All just because his wife --" He shakes his head, his scowl turning vicious. He remembers going to school with Zack and Sharon, who he thought had been decent enough people. Or so he had thought. Zack never struck him as the abusive drunk type, a type he was familiar with, and he never pegged Sharon for the kind of woman to ditch her children like that. "If only I had a two-by-four."

Beverly looks away.

She's seen the bruises, too. On Bill's face. Under his chin and along his jaw... She had talked with Mike about it... She hadn't been trying to talk about Bill behind his back, she was just a concerned friend, same as Mike...

"He's my friend," she says. "Bill... and Georgie."

"Oh..."

"They all are..."

"They?"

He frowns as she lists off the names of her friends.

"Ben, Bill, Eddie, Richie, Stan, Mike, and Georgie," Beverly says softly. "And... Pennywise now, too, I guess."

"Don't... don't you have any girl friends?" he asks, frowning at the thought of her hanging around so many boys. And a _man_. He turns towards her, still sitting and still frowning, one arm propped on the table. He knows that Georgie Denbrough is just a little kid, only seven or something, but the rest of them, he's pretty sure they're around Beverly's age. He knows Bill Denbrough is, at least. Ben, too. And if one idiot likes her...

Beverly almost snorts with disbelief, with dark humor, but she holds it back.

She instead scowls herself.

"No," she admits. "Gretta Keene, Mr. Keene's daughter, used to be nice to me, back in third grade. That ended pretty quickly. I have nobody else. Nobody else wants to be friends with me. None of the girls, especially."

"Why the hell not?"

Her lips quiver, her eyes glassing over as she wraps her arms around herself.

Ben suggested she tell her father about the rumors and while she wants to, she's fucking terrified of his reaction. Of what he might do to her, or what he might to do Henry, but between the two, she would gladly outrun Henry just to flee her father. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. She knows it would definitely be better coming from her than it would be coming from anyone else, because if someone else told him, and she tried to deny it, she knows he wouldn't believe her.

"You... you remember when Henry B-Bowers and his friends cornered me?" she asks, tears streaming at the memory. His scowl returns. She knows he remembers it just as well as she does. "He... Henry... do you remember that stupid play I was in?"

He looks away.

"No."

He didn't go to that play.

"Well... back... back in third grade... the stupid teachers made me participate in it and it had a stupid kiss in it," she says, trembling as her voice starts to crack, becoming watery and upset. "It... it wasn't anything serious. It was with Bill and he tried to get away from me as fast as possible. He was just as uncomfortable as I was... After that, I, I remember... I remember Gretta was suddenly giving me dirty looks in the hallways... staring at me like I was trash... and then all of the girls were doing it... then the boys... There are rumors in this town... about me... about Henry and me... Henry was the one who started them..."

She watches his eyes widen and time seems to slow and then stop.

She stares at him, beyond terrified, every nerve in her body feeling shot. She knows she is risking more than just everything right now. Her eyes are impossibly wide, wider than saucers, her lips pressed together as she watches the metaphorical gears turning in his head. And then, they _click_.

His entire countenance changes into something --

\-- Dark.

Something --

\-- Angry.

Something --

 _Pissed_ _off_.

She can see that he's beyond livid, beyond furious. She can see the pure, absolutely raw _rage_ in his eyes. Her heart pounds like a drum, but the crescendo is a note of something dangerous. Almost as though she's living through a scene in a horror movie, and the music is being played through her heart beats and the tempo is quickening with something _deadly_.

"Bowers..." Alvin says, swallowing thickly, the name leaving behind something foul on his tongue. He grits his teeth and clenches his hand into a fist. He feels sick to his stomach, but not because of Beverly. "Spread rumors about you? About the both of you?"

She whispers, a frightened, feeble thing;

"Yes, daddy."

"He said you did..." he swallows again, feeling bile rising in the back of his throat, "... _womanly_..." he almost gags because that's his _little girl_ , "... things with him?"

That would explain a lot of the snide comments he's heard from the other older folks in this town about her, from the people around his age. He never understood, not even when the teachers at the school said something, about how Beverly was missing class and they made rude commentary about her... He remembers Sonia Kaspbrak saying something vulgar about her... though he hadn't understood it then because that's his _little girl_...

He isn't sure what pisses him off more.

The fact that Henry Bowers had the fucking audacity to do something that monumentally stupid. The fact that Butch probably let him or doesn't give a shit. The fact that Sonia and his own coworkers and probably everybody else in this cesspool of a town believe the rumors. Or the fact that Beverly was staring at him as though she honestly thought he was going to hit her again.

 _How dare_ \--

\-- How _fucking_ dare --

\-- How _**dare** _that little **_fucker_ **\--

A petrified whisper;

"Yes..."

"Don't fucking look at me like that," he spits, scowling as he opens his eyes. He sees her then. His daughter. His Beverly. His little girl. He can see that she's nothing but a scared little thing, beyond fucking terrified out of her goddamned wits. And he can see its partially, if not mostly, his own fault. He doesn't see the beautiful young woman she's growing up to be, and instead sees the terrified face of his little girl, though she doesn't cling to her father for comfort. It's him that she fears. He scoffs, tapping the table with his index finger; "I think that if your little poetry writer hadn't shown up on my doorstep, this conversation would be going a whole lot differently."

She frowns as his nails dig into the palms of his hands.

"I'll kill him. I'll fucking kill him," Alvin promises darkly.

"It's not worth it," Beverly says. "It's already happened and it wouldn't matter even if Henry did tell anybody or even everybody that the rumors aren't true. They aren't, but that won't stop Gretta. She's loved tormenting me with it for years. Ben thinks she's just jealous of me because of Henry."

"I don't fucking care what she's jealous of," Alvin spits, sneering. "That little bitch had no fucking right to stick her nose into anything. If she wasn't a girl, I would --" He cuts himself off. "Next time I see that little piece of shit, he's dead fucking meat."

"It doesn't matter."

"It _does_ matter," Alvin says, his voice rising with every word, "because that little _fucker_ had no right to lie about you, or any fucking girl for that matter!" He slams his fist onto the table, the action making her jump. "Next time you see Sonia Kaspbrak, make sure you spit in her fucking face," he tells her. "You're thirteen years old for Christ's sakes and -- _Third_ , **_third_** grade? You weren't even _ten_ yet! And I know that bitch honestly believes the rumors..."

He scoffs.

"Anything else I should know about? Any other poems or something like that?"

"Only one other poem, from Ben," Beverly admits, though she neglects to tell him where she hid it.

"Oh... that's nice," Alvin says, sighing. "I'm so sorry, Bevvy."

"It's okay, daddy."

"It isn't but..." he sighs again... He wants to beat Butch into the dirt, so fucking badly. He knows this is all his fault, because if Butch wasn't an abusive piece of shit to his own son, then Henry probably wouldn't be the lying little shit he was today. "I, uh, I got something for you... it isn't what you're thinking..."

He smiles as he pulls it out from underneath Elfrida's photograph, though the regret lingers.

"I, uh, you... you dropped them after you shoved me."

"I'm sorry... about that..."

"Don't be," he says sternly. "You had every right to shove me. Never be sorry for defending herself against a piece of shit."

Beverly frowns even as she shyly steps forward.

She remembers doing this, every year, on her mother's birthday, though that day is not today. Unlike all of those previous times, however, she isn't walking towards him with a note of hesitancy, fear coursing through her very veins, the sense of dread in knowing that he was going to spray her with perfume. So much perfume, that --

"Gretta once asked me if I wore the perfume to hide the fact that I reek of slut," Beverly says softly.

Alvin flinches at that.

"I'll kill that little bitch," he says.

"I already punched her in the face once," Beverly says.

He frowns, though it's more out of his surprise than his upset.

"Really?" he asks, vaguely impressed, actually. "When?"

"When, uh, when she called Ben... fat. She made nasty comments about us and called him fat... So I punched her in the mouth. She still has the bruise."

"Good," Alvin says, handing her the item.

Her eyes widen with surprise, her lips parting, at the sight of the postcard.

It was taped back up, held together by tiny little pieces of tape on the back, though she could still make out the lighthouse.

"Little shit has the heart of a poet, I'll give him that," he says, handing it to her.

Gingerly, she takes it. Her fingers tremble as she flips it over, seeing that the haiku was readable despite being taped together. After ripping it, he had fixed it...

"Daddy... I..."

"Don't," Alvin says. "Don't thank me and don't apologize. Just... do me one favor, won't you?" he asks. "Don't end up with a piece of shit. Don't end up with a man like me. Even after I'm dead and gone."

She smiles, her eyes wide with disbelief.

She can't help it, she hugs him. She wraps her arms around his neck and holds him close. He smiles and hugs her back as he stands, though he isn't looming over her anymore.

"I'm sorry, Bevvy," he says, nearly whispering.

"Me, too."

"Don't be. Don't be sorry and don't be so polite."

She grins then.

"Does this mean I can hang out with boys now? You know Ben is sweet. Richie likes Eddie and vice versa, but neither will admit it. Mike and Stan are sweet, too, but not like that. And I'm pretty sure that Bill has a crush on the clown."

Alvin sighs with relief.

That means he really does have only one idiot to worry about. He just hopes it stays that way and if he was honest, he'd rather she end up with a sweet kid like Ben Hanscom than some prick like him in the future. He frowns, however.

"Isn't that Sonia's _boy_?" he asks.

"Yeah, but, who cares?" she asks.

He gives her a pointed look.

"Okay, other than Butch and Henry Bowers, who gives a crap?" she asks.

"And Bill and the clown? Isn't he a guy?"

"Yeah, but he's hot. So it's okay."

She laughs the weirded out look on his face.

"But, yeah, sure," he says bluntly. "After I'm dead. Plus three days, just to make sure."

Beverly laughs again.

She never thought she would actually have a good father/daughter moment with her actual father, instead of a guy at the circus with a bunch of scars on his face who talked about fatherhood with her. She doesn't tell him about that, however. She just can't believe, that for the first time in her life, she has a memory with her father.

A memory that's actually a _good_ thing.

One she managed to make even in the shithole town of Derry...

... and now, Gretta had _nothing_ on her. Henry neither. Nobody did. Not now that her father knew the rumors weren't true and they couldn't hold it against her. Not now, not again, not ever.

He brushes his fingers over her hairline, smiling.

"You know, the Ringwald cut really does suit you," he says.

His smile dims, however, when she scowls.

"Ugh, it had nothing to do with Molly Ringwald!"

And with that she storms away.

He frowns, confused.

What'd he say wrong?

**********

"Going somewhere?"

Robert stops, his hand halfway to the doorknob, at the sweet sound of Tiffany's voice. He glances her direction to see her sitting at the kitchen table with Chucky. Pamela was also in the kitchen, standing in front of the stove and she was currently warming up milk for Little Chips. He frowns in confusion as he senses that it's mere curiosity, though his frown deepens with unease as he takes notice of Chucky wiping his knife with a cloth.

The same knife he used to kill...

He had yet to do so, Robert would smell the blood, but he had the disturbed hunch that the serial killer turned voodoo doll was planning something. He knew that he had nothing kind to say about Mrs. Corcoran, after all. Especially after her commentary towards Bill.

He looks away.

"Out."

One word, spoken so quietly. So moodily. Almost like a teenager not wanting to tell his parents where he was going. A strange analogy considering all of their pasts, but not exactly an inaccurate one.

Pamela glances over at him as she takes a spoonful of milk and lets a few drops fall onto her wrist, checking the temperature. She quickly turns the stove off as Chucky gives him a look. Both are in doll form again, the clown having dropped the illusion after their conversations with Beverly and Ben, though he hadn't a clue Tiffany had spoken to Ben until after she told him.

Chucky scoffs.

"You going on a hunt then?"

His frown deepens, red lips curving downwards.

"No."

"Then... why are you still dressed as the clown?" the doll asks.

He looks down at his hands, at his attire. Or, at the very least, the physical form he has worn for so long... He wouldn't say decades, at least not in front of the kids, nor would he say centuries. Not even millennia...

Yet...

"What's wrong with it?"

Chucky's lips quirk.

"Well, nothing, unless you're going hunting," he says, taking a long swipe of his blade. "But it's not Halloween and everyone knows you're the clown in this circus. They'd know it was you even with your influence."

"I'm not going for a hunt."

"Then drop the clown face," Chucky says simply. "Where you off to anyway?"

"The... quarry."

"To kill more turtles? I mean, if your changing your face..."

"No... I..."

"Chucky, it's the whole quarry thing," Tiffany says, taking a puff of her cigarette. "Even if it is weird."

"Lots of things are weird," the clown says defensively.

"Sure, they are," Tiffany says. "But if I were hanging around a bunch of teenagers and one's kid brother, and I was a killer alien from outer space --" he scowls at that, "-- I wouldn't wear a clown suit and makeup."

"They like it," he says lowly. "Everyone loves a clown."

"Sure, but it's still creepy. There's more to life than being a scary clown," Chucky says.

"That's ironic coming from you," Tiffany says dryly.

He flips her off in response.

Robert continues to frown, however. He stares down at himself almost self-consciously, now unsure of himself.

"I've always been a clown," he says, his voice having gone soft now. Insecure. "Everyone likes clowns."

"Not anymore," Chucky says, apathetic. "What, haven't you ever gone... commando... before? You know, looked like a normal guy? Without the clown face?"

Tiffany rolls her eyes at that.

"There's nothing wrong with that," she says, as though they weren't having this conversation with a timeless, ageless, inter dimensional monster that originated from the bowels of the universes. "But to be honest, ditching the clown look might be a good idea."

"I've never..."

"Hey, it's the 80s," Chucky says. "Last year of the best decade of the century. Sex, drugs, rock n' roll, what's not to love?"

"Dignity apparently," Pamela says coldly.

"Come on. Ditch the clown look and pick something cool," Chucky says.

"Clowns _are_ cool," Robert says, growing angry.

"Maybe back in the 50s," Chucky retorts.

"A simple sweater and jeans would suffice. Or maybe a flannel," Pamela says.

"It's almost July and it's hotter than Hell outside," Chucky says.

As they begin to bicker, Robert looks away, unsure of himself.

He's never gone without the face of Pennywise the Dancing Clown. Even when ditching the "funny hair" as Georgie called it, he's never gone without the clown face paint. The greasepaint and the red lipstick as well as the red paint that added to it. He's never... Without it... he's not a clown anymore, is he?

"You know, throw on a leather jacket," Tiffany says, taking another long drag of the cigarette. "Leather is always a good one and black goes with everything. Maybe get some cut up jeans and a plain t-shirt. Simple, but cool."

Robert averts his eyes.

"It's not like she's asking you to rip your own face off and stich on a new one," Chucky says.

 _In a way_ , _she is_ , Robert thinks. _If I don't wear the clown's face_ , _then I'm just Robert_ , _aren't I_? _No matter what face I wear_ , _it'll never be my own_. _I'll always just be a thief of faces_. _Anyone who sees my true self either goes catatonic_ , _most often permanently_ , _as Mrs. Kersh nearly did_ , _or dies instantly_... _I only altered Bob Gray's face to lessen my guilt_...

"Quit with the inner monologue," Chucky says. "What does your real face look like anyhow?"

Robert scowls.

He turns towards him, eyes glinting silver, flashing yellow.

Ominous.

A threat.

"Care to find out?" he spits.

The doll recoils instantly.

"No, no, I'm good."

"It doesn't matter anyway," Pamela says as she takes the kettle from the stove. "The children love the clown and it's not like anyone's awake at this hour."

As she heads for the back door, going to tend to the puppy, Robert glances awkwardly out the kitchen window.

The sun itself was not yet out.

Stars glitter in the darkness of the night's sky.

The crack of dawn was not yet awake.

He gives Chucky a sideways glance.

"Say anything at all, and I will eat you."

And with that he storms away.

Chucky glances at his bride.

"You think he'd be happier if he was getting laid?"

"Probably, yeah."

**********

"So, you're telling me that for his birthday, all the clown wants is to go swimming and get ice cream? With _us_? The Losers' Club? And Georgie? How fucking old is this guy anyway?"

"I duh-duh-don't know, Ruh-Richie. There's nuh-not a p-p-puh-problem is there?"

"You mean other than the fact that all of us, a bunch of thirteen year olds, two twelve year olds, and a seven year old, are all currently sitting here in our underwear, you keeping your shirt on for some reason, while waiting for a grown man who's age we still don't know is going to show up and swim with us and that sounds like the perfect setting to a fucked up horror movie? No, no, there's no problem at all, Bill."

A chorus of voices, in perfect unison, including Georgie's and even Mike's, and Bill doesn't even stutter;

"Shut up, Richie."

"Fuck you all. You'd think he'd rather hang out with a hot chick and get a birthday kiss or some shit."

Bill shakes his head at that as he looks about his friends, seeing that the seven Losers and Georgie were all sitting together at the quarry, on the cliff, waiting for the clown. For Robert. Beverly is currently sitting next to Ben, eyeing the pair of silver knuckles in her hands with a thoughtful expression and as she slides them on her fingers, Bill can tell she's testing their strength as well as her own, and clearly trying to figure out who she can test them on. If he had to guess, it would either be Richie, Gretta, or Henry. Richie being because he was the only one of those three present at the moment.

Ben clearly finds awesome if his sunshine smile and moony eyes were anything to go by. Stan, like the rest of them, had been surprised that they were solid silver instead of brass, and every single one of them, except for Georgie, had been beyond surprised that some guy named Chucky, one of the clown's "friends", just randomly gave them to her. Bill just hopes that for Connor and Gretta's sakes, they learn to keep their mouths shut about Ben's weight and the rumors about Beverly.

Georgie is currently poking at Eddie with a stick he found, a childish grin on his face as he sticks his little tongue out, Bill laughing silently at the sight, a look of determination on his little face as Eddie keeps smacking it away, the older boy growing more and more annoyed as he rants about poisonous plants ranging from mushrooms to poison ivy and poison oak.

Stan and Mike are sitting off to the side, the former jotting down notes in his notebook while bird watching. Mike is drawing in the dirt with a stick, his football in his other hand, an annoyed look on his face as he stares at Richie, the boy honestly looking ready to whack Richie upside the head with it. Bill can't blame him, because he's thought about asking Mike for the stick so he can do it himself.

Bill is sitting beside Georgie, wondering how much longer until Eddie steals the stick from his little brother and throws it over the cliff. He wouldn't throw it into the underbrush, because they all know Georgie wouldn't hesitate to go and get it back just to do it again, poison ivy or oak be damned. Bill smiles at his friends, though none smile back at him, too invested with themselves at the moment, and he turns back to his book. He really likes it. It's almost as good, if not a little better, than the movie.

Okay, that was a lie.

Still, the book was really good. He didn't even know where the clown got it, but Bill was glad he did.

"Why am I the only one honestly creeped out by this motherfucker?" Richie asks unhappily, the Losers all simultaneously rolling their eyes. "First he gets Eddie wrapped around his finger, then Bill --" Bill shakes his head at that, "-- and he knows my short size, my _underwear_ size --"

"Small," Eddie mutters and Beverly and Bill both snort with amusement.

"Screw you, and not literally!" Richie snaps. "And not only that, but who the hell has a birthday without fucking _cake_?"

Bill shakes his head again, rolling his eyes, though he too is curious about why Robert wouldn't want a cake at all. He still can't believe that the clown has never actually celebrated his birthday... He would understand, because if you didn't know when it was then that would be part of it, but then he feels worse for Robert because that makes him wonder if the clown doesn't really know how old he is. It would definitely explain why Robert was so secretive and cagey about it... He just...

For Robert, he feels bad.

Mike shakes his head, his mind drifting back to Little Chips. He was just hoping that the little guy was doing okay, and he hoped his grandfather would love him as much as he already did. He figured that would be the case, because even though Mr. Chips was a pain in the ass, as his grandfather put it more than once, he loved him dearly.

"Thanks again for inviting me," Mike says, smiling at Beverly. His eyes stay on her face, instead of looking... elsewhere. "I've never seen the quarry before.... at least, not with... anyone else."

She just smiles.

"What're friends for?" she asks before turning to Bill. "We probably should've gotten an exact time."

Bill just shrugs.

He isn't keen to tell them, especially Richie, that he was up early just for this.

Footsteps make all eight of them turn, Richie shifting with discomfort as Bill tries not to fidget with a sort of childish excitement. He isn't sure what it is, but he just really likes the clown. He really likes Robert. He smiles, wide and dopey, when he sees him coming out from behind the trees. Of course, then he realizes that he's not actually looking at a clown as much as he's looking at Robert. That makes his eyes widen with surprise when he realizes there's no makeup on Robert's face and no clown suit on his body, then he realizes how stupid that sounds because obviously it was a hot summer day, so he wouldn't be wearing the clown suit, nor was he performing at the circus, and if he was going to go swimming, he wouldn't have the clown makeup on...

Still, it's considerably weird if not neat to see Robert without the clown persona. Bill saw that Robert didn't have a bike with him, which means he either walked or drove, the latter meaning he left his car parked somewhere, though Bill hadn't seen a car parked anywhere at Neibolt since they rebuilt it. Yet seven pairs of eyes widen just the same at the sight of the -- _not_ \-- clown.

That was going to be hard to get used to, not referring to Robert as "the clown".

Bill's lips part as Eddie's eyes become wide as saucers, Richie noticing the latter more than the former and pouting with envy. Robert passes by Stan's propped up bike, the man taking notice of it and smiling fondly at it, clearly amused. Of course, Stan was the only one of the seven Losers who bothered to prop his bike up instead of letting it drop to the ground. Robert turns towards them, smiling, yet rather shyly.

Almost awkwardly.

And the way he was looking at his own hands, which were not wearing the silky gloves Bill had affiliated them with, the boy might've thought that Robert was uncomfortable at the moment. Perhaps uncomfortable in his own skin...

Bill found that strange to think about because --

\-- Holy fuck.

The face is the same, obviously, not that Bill actually thought he would look any different but... after only ever seeing him with the clown's makeup, it just felt so strange, almost bizarre, to see. It was new, but not in a bad way. It was still the same handsome, well defined face with a strong jawline and full lips, the lower one especially, and the same starlight blue eyes, one lazier than the other, seemingly gazing in a different direction, with the same soft dark brown hair on his head, still combed over to the right, looking shiny as always. Sleek, even. It's just so different, so weird, to see him without the makeup and the costume, which Bill thought pronounced his handsome features even more but...

... Bill likes this, too.

Actually, he thinks he really likes it.

His cheeks warm as he stares almost intently at the rest of the -- not -- clown, looking him up and down. Bill was beyond grateful that he wasn't the only one, though he was quite sure Eddie and Richie were simply sizing him up and the rest were impressed with one particular part of his attire. He stares, just the same, with faint surprise, at the black leather bomber jacket the clown was wearing, because Bill knows that those things are not fucking cheap. There's a faded gray t-shirt underneath and on his legs are old looking blue jeans, a hole in one knee and the ends are frayed. White sneakers sit snugly on his feet.

Robert just smiles awkwardly, feeling like the fly rather than the spider.

"This is awkward."

Richie snorts.

"Says the guy not stripped to his tighty whities," Richie retorts.

Robert rolls his eyes before sighing and shrugging it off.

It was merely flesh... right?

Not even his own...

Well, the scars were his own, but...

He forces down those insecurities, knowing the Losers won't care.

He shrugs off the leather jacket, knowing full well that each of the Losers were wondering how in the hell a circus ringleader could afford something like that, Beverly still being confused about the silver knuckles, after all, but he shakes it off. He lets it fall to the ground before pulling off the shirt. He can't help but smirk with amusement underneath the fabric as his arms go above his head, well aware that Richie and Eddie were staring intently. Bill as well, but that one made the smirk disappear, shyness taking over. He lets that fall onto the jacket, going for the studded belt next.

He wasn't letting Tiffany pick his wardrobe again.

Ever.

Four sets of lips part with shock at the sight of him shirtless, the sight of a grown man shirtless at all, that wasn't a family member or someone more familiar, and they all saw that he had the body of an acrobat, Bill figuring that made sense after the performance on the hoops, and it was definitely befitting his handsome face.

Lean and developed muscles, toned with experience from the circus performances, rippled under pale flesh. All hard angles and planes, his stomach well defined. He wasn't ripped, not like a body builder, but he was definitely well muscled.

Mike blinks, Beverly as well, and even Bill, Eddie shuddering at the sight, and Robert frowns, self-conscious. Ben is too busy, along with Richie and Stan, ogling the muscles, to take notice.

On Robert's right breast, where his heart lie, was a pale pink, almost white colored scar, long and jagged, faded over with age, clearly. It honestly looked as though someone had taken some kind of sharp, jagged or misshapen blade and had stabbed him in the chest. Mike frowns as he stares at the scarred over wound with a sort of morbid curiosity, a sense of familiarity lingering in a way he didn't quite understand.

He misses the twitch of the -- _not_ \-- clown's lips, the slight of a frown forming, and Robert grimaces, pain etching itself over his features, as his scar pulses and throbs, beating like its own heart. Bill is the only one to notice, a frown forming on his own lips.

Bill's eyes linger the longest on the scar on Robert's chest, though eventually his eyes do drift down to the rest of him, the boy swallowing thickly, his face feeling as though it was on fire, as he stares at the man's body. He stares, curious, at the sight of a second scar. It was in Robert's side, just above his hip, between his ribs. It was a perfect circle, as though he had been impaled by some kind of pipe or something similar. Or perhaps something sharp, almost like a really large, really sharp, icicle.

He watches with heated cheeks as Robert lets the belt fall to the ground, the boy watching with shyness but unable to look away as Robert undoes the button of the jeans and pulls down the fly, kicking off his shoes as he went.

It's almost like when Beverly dropped her dress for the first time, back when it was only Bill, Ben, Eddie, Stan, and Richie, who had all been staring at the rest of her instead of her face, all five boys seeing a naked, or nearly naked, girl for the first time that wasn't from a dirty magazine Richie stole from his dad. Georgie, of course, being the only one to keep staring at her fact, unbothered by Beverly's near nudity. Mike, of course, upon seeing it, didn't stare too long out of politeness.

Only with Robert, or at least for Bill, it was different somehow. You wouldn't think that seeing a grown man, nearly naked, save for a pair of blue boxers, would have such an effect but here in that moment, it really was having... quite the effect. Bill's cheeks burn, redder and hotter than fire itself, as he continues to stare alongside the rest of them. Most of the other boys were looking with envy because holy fuck (namely Ben, who is staring self-consciously down at his own belly), but Bill is staring with awe and wonder and maybe, just maybe, a little bit of what Beverly is staring at the clown with.

 _Interest_.

Beverly's lower lip quivers as she grins, vaguely impressed if not amused as she takes notice of the other boys' jaw-dropped expressions. Bill can't help but notice that as the clown kicks away his shoes, there are no socks on his feet.

"Take a picture, Tozier, it'll last longer," Robert says.

"Screw --" Richie's about to say before he stops himself, his own cheeks darkening as he looks away. Bill feels a bubble of laughter erupt out of him, along with Stan, Eddie, and even Beverly. Never before had Richie been stunned into silence. "Shut up, Bill."

It is then that they, namely the boys, minus Georgie, of course, take notice of another particular thing on the clown's person. They even stare with a bit of envy, Bill and Beverly's eyes widening at the sight, as Robert runs past all eight of them and leaps over the cliff, Georgie now grinning childishly. Bill lets out a soundless gasp at the quick glance of the clown's back he sees, the barest second, but it was enough.

He thought for that split second that the clown had slashes running along his back, long and deep, almost savage, scars running along the entire length of it, from the upper right of his back to the lower left, as though Vitaly had gotten him when is back was turned, but in that moment, his eyes had focused on the smaller scar on Robert's back where his heart would be. It was an exact match, a twin, to the one on his chest. It really did seem like someone had taken some kind of jagged, broken blade and stabbed him right through.

Mike is staring just as curiously as Bill, because the sight if familiar somehow. Bill and the rest of the Losers and perhaps even Georgie would guess, easily and daresay correctly, that the clown, Robert, whichever, had been stabbed in the chest and the blade had popped out of his back. Or, perhaps, and this was the more accurate suggestion, he had been stabbed in his back and the blade had popped out of his chest. Either way, Bill, Eddie, and Mike were all positive that there was no way it could have missed his heart.

Bill watches with the rest of the Losers, all of them having darted to the cliff but not yet jumping themselves, to watch the clown hit the water, creating a splash even larger than Ben's from the last time the Losers, minus Mike, were here. He watches with fascination, a look of awe with a hint of morbid curiosity, same as Mike and Beverly, as well as Richie and Eddie. Richie, of course, having no filter whatsoever, is the first to ask the question on all of their minds.

"What, uh," Richie begins, almost nervously, as Robert disappears under the waves of the quarry's water. His eyes are narrowed in what Bill guesses is suspicion, and genuine concern. "How the hell is he _alive_?"

"Who cares?" Beverly asks. "The important thing is that he is."

"Yeah," Bill says softly, his voice almost a whisper.

"Is, uh, is anyone else..." Stan begins, almost just as nervously as Richie, an embarrassed look on his face mixed in with some kind of jealousy, the curly-haired boy staring down at his legs, "... is anyone else kinda jealous right now?"

Beverly laughs, misinterpreting.

"Jealous about what?" she asks, grinning cheekily as she sets the knuckles down on her clothes pile. "That you're all in your tighty whities and he's got man undies?"

"Yeah..." Eddie says, also staring rather enviously down at his own legs. Although specifically, he was looking at the spot _between_ them. "We're jealous of the _underwear_..."

Beverly gets it then.

And she laughs.

A bubbly thing straight from her belly and Bill smiles like a dork, not a trace of boyish envy on his face, as he sees Robert's head emerging from underneath the water. He isn't exactly sure, because it's a long way down, as it's always been, but he would like to think that the look on Robert's face was that of a smile. And he would like to think that the smile was directed at _him_ in particular.

And that sets off the dorkiest, most childish of hopes inside of him as he takes Georgie's hand and leaps over the cliff. Beverly quickly follows, Ben nearly running off the edge to keep up with her, though his cheeks burn, becoming red with shame, as his belly jiggles with his movement. Behind they leave Stan, Eddie, Mike, and Richie.

Both Stan and Eddie are frowning, though Eddie's cheeks are pink for a different reason than Stan. Mike is just nervous about jumping, as this really is the first time he's been to the quarry. With anyone. In front of a girl was just weird for him, he hardly noticed the clown... except for the scars. Richie, sensing Eddie's awkwardness, grins.

"He'd put David Bowie in _Labyrinth_ to shame," he says, his grin stretching ear to ear as Eddie's ears turn red, "You think it was a noisemaker or that he was happy to see one of us?"

"Dude, that's just gross," Mike says, shaking his head with a grimace.

"Shut up, Richie," Stan says as Eddie glares at him, Richie just snorting with laughter.

Mike is the first to jump next.

Then Stan.

And Richie and Eddie hold hands while they go.

"Robert" stares up at the sky with unseeing eyes, a bit of a smile on his face as well as the slight of a frown. His entire body is submerged under the water, the liquid almost entirely covering his head except for his face. Despite the water sloshing around his ears, he can hear the delighted screams of the children all around him. He can hear Georgie splashing Eddie alongside Beverly and Richie as Mike and Stan toss the boy's football back and forth. He can sense how Ben wants to join in on the fun of splashing Eddie, can sense the bubbly lightness of his thoughts when he looks at the redhead girl, but Ben is too embarrassed to move around too much, even if Beverly did punch another girl just for calling him fat.

The bit of a smile disappears, turning into a full frown, like that of a Sad Clown, though he had no paint on his face, when he realizes that not a single turtle is in the water. He knows they're present, if their frightened staring was anything to go by, the stench of their primal, animalistic fear lingering in the air like a sweet, fragrance, though much more pure than that of a cheap perfume. He knows that they know, by instinct alone, the sight and stench of a predator. It's the same as when he recognizes a prey, after all.

They may not be sea turtles, but he may as well be a shark regardless.

Or even a crow.

How strange.

He finds it strange to know that once upon a time, once upon the summer of '89, he had been here, once before, but instead of actually being in the water, somewhat participating in the festivities (though the first kid who splashes him was going to regret it, unless it was Bill or Georgie), he had been watching from the shadows, lurking in the dark corners, merely a pair of glowing eyes in the darkness. The eyes of a champion, the eyes of a predator. A creature who felt no fear when stalking its prey.

The turtles gaze at the loud but small (who knew something so small could be so loud?) human beings with that same sense of fear, because they are far smaller than them and therefore are the prey to even them. "Robert" had once gazed at the loud children, too, back when it was only six and not eight, and would never be eight, only instead of watching with that hint of fear, with the eyes of the loser, the eyes of the prey, he had gazed at them with the hunger of a creature waiting for its next hunt.

A pang courses through his chest, surging through his scar, making his frown deepen as his face contorts with pain.

How strange to think a little stab wound (puny being a better term for it, since was only one battle of wills, after all) would change the entire course of his life. It was almost like that old Mike had pressed a half-assed reset button on the clown's entire existence. He wasn't sure if he hated the bastard for it or was grateful, though he knew the wrongdoings of the past could not be changed. Only the future of this world was the unknown path he now tread.

Yet although It knows that it was Mike who stabbed him through, very nearly succeeding in killing him, all by himself, it was really Bill who had made him bleed. It was Bill who was that broken piece of fence in Its' eyes. The straw that broke the camel's back. Or, in this case, stabbed him in the back (though Bill never really betrayed him) and it pierced all the way through, exiting out his chest.

It pierced his heart, like an arrow.

Funny that the tip of that fence would almost be shaped like a heart itself.

Almost like a Cupid with a twisted sense of humor made the clown his next target. And the little shit didn't miss.

It is not lost upon him that Bill Denbrough, but a boy, now and 27 years from now, was exactly that. A weapon with jagged ends, unaware of his power, unaware of his will, a powerful thing that could pierce so deeply into the clown's heart. To remove that jagged weapon, a sharp blade of sorts, would leave the clown with a bleeding heart.

As it happened, once before, nearly killing him in the process.

Or perhaps his heart had never stopped bleeding.

Perhaps it never would.

Not even upon his death.

He then cannot help but wonder if this is how Tiffany Valentine felt, when she found out that her lover was dead. That he had been gunned down in a toy store. Despite his past, despite the darkness that dwelled within him, she had loved him. Some part of her still did. He then wonders if this is how she felt upon finding that stupid little ring on the mantle, thinking that he had been planning on proposing to her. Settling down for her and her only. And then, after ten long years, they had reunited, only for her heart to break far worse than when she found out about his death.

He finds it sad to compare the two, but he can't help it.

Although 27 years was longer than 10.

So was 54 years now that he thought about it.

He frowns, sadness overwhelming him as he gazes about each smiling face.

Never before had he been the one to bring the smiles to the faces of children. That had always been Bob Gray. Pennywise the Dancing Clown. At least it had been before Gray's untimely death. His murder at the hands, really claws, of an unknown assailant.

A _monster_.

Never before had he made the Losers smile, not even once. Not even when they thought they had defeated him and not even when they actually did. And even if they did smile, it was because they knew, with absolute certainty, that the nightmare spawned by Pennywise, the nightmare that was It, was finally over.

He looks miserably at Georgie, knowing that every little thing the boy did, every path that he changed, including Henry's, was entirely his fault. He knew that he was giving Georgie as well as Bill mere false hope of a better life. Georgie was meant to die that day, just as Henry is meant to die 27 years from now.

Both brutally, he might add.

His eyes begin to burn like liquid fire, glassing over with unshed tears.

What was he _doing_?

He was only making things worse, wasn't he?

Harder on himself, but them as well.

He has always been a clown.

He wore the face of one because it was like bread on a fishhook, a lure. He isn't a clown, not at the moment, and he certainly isn't Pennywise anymore. Not the nightmarish variant or even the happy one. He wasn't a Happy Clown and he didn't think he was an Evil one, not anymore at least. Painted clown or otherwise, he knows he's been a fool.

A jester above all.

He's hurting these kids more than he already has, he thinks.

Bill the worst of it.

His heart begins to pound, pain coursing through his scar, as though a bolt of lightning is striking the very spot but isn't relenting, and he --

\-- jumps, startled, when Bill's voice cuts through his inner monologue of self-loathing.

Robert stares at the boy with wide eyes, unable to believe he let the boy walk up on him without noticing, and Bill smiles apologetically, awkwardly.

"Suh-Sorry... I duh-didn't muh-mean tuh-to scuh-scare yuh-you..."

"You didn't," Robert says, clearly lying through his teeth.

Bill just smiles, not at all bothered by that. Though, he does frown slightly.

"I, uh, I'm sorry..."

"I just said --"

"Nuh-No, nuh-no, not abuh-bout that, well, that too, buh-but..." Bill begins, a look of misery overtaking his sweet little face. Robert frowns. Deeply. He frowns more at the fact that Bill is still wearing his shirt, though the clown knows that it wasn't just to hide the slashes on his bicep as well as his hip, though his underwear would cover that second one. "I muh-muh-meant yuh-your duh-dog... Puh-Puh-Puh-Pe-Peh --"

Bill's face flushes scarlet with embarrassment.

"Take your time," Robert says softly, making the boy sigh.

Bill rubs his arm, shy and awkward, stumbling over his words.

"Muh-My duh-dad, huh-he... uh... he..." his eyes sting and water, the boy flinching at the echo of the memory, still fresh in his mind, of the poor thing yelping in pain. Twice. "Huh-He kuh-kicked huh-him. The duh-dog... I'm suh-sorry."

"Are you the one who kicked him?" Robert asks.

Bill frowns. He's never kicked an animal before. Never purposefully brought harm to one. He never has and he never will. And it was Robert's dog, so what the hell kind of a question was that? He gets the point the man is trying to make, but still.

"Then don't be sorry. You didn't kick him and your dad would have either way," Robert says simply. "He'd be sorry if he shot it."

"Huh-Huh-He suh-said huh-he wuh-would..." Bill says tearfully. "If huh-he suh-saw anymore cuh-cats or duh-dogs on his l-luh-lawn."

Robert just smiles, a knowing gleam in his eyes.

Bill's lips quirk.

"What're you pluh-pluh-planning?" he asks.

"Nothing much, really," he says, which is partially true. "Personally, I think he's an ass."

"Yuh-Yeah..."

Bill doesn't disagree.

He smiles again, however.

"Huh-He's luh-luh-lovable," he says softly. " The duh-dog."

"He likes you," Robert says simply.

In another form, one that was but an extension of himself, a way to express...

It was hard to not...

... feel.

"He's fine, you know," Robert says. "You're the one that's more important."

He would have mauled Zack regardless, though even if he hadn't gone with them in that form, had it just been Jonesy and Freddie, they may very well have killed him. Zack wouldn't have had time to run for his gun, and would've been dead where he stood. The Great Dane and the Great Pyrenees needn't be named Cujo.

"Nuh-No..." Bill says quietly. "Guh-Georgie's muh-more important."

"To you, maybe," Robert says. "But if you're protecting Georgie, who's protecting you?"

Bill is silent.

"I duh-don't nuh-need pruh-protection," he says, clearly lying. "Nuh-Nobody wuh-would pruh-protect muh-me anyway."

"That's not true," Robert says. They both glance at the Losers, who are still playing in the water, oblivious to Bill and the clown's conversation. "And you know it."

"They're muh-my fruh-friends buh-but I duh-don't wuh-want them to knuh-know about it," Bill says, almost murmuring through his tears, which stream down his cheeks. "I... huh-he's juh-just muh-mad about muh-my muh-mom --"

"That's no excuse," Robert says firmly. "There is no excuse, no reason, for the things he does."

"Huh-How wuh-would yuh-you knuh-know?" Bill asks, almost sounding angry, though Robert knows it's only because he's embarrassed that the clown does know. "Yuh-You duh-didn't --"

"I didn't need to see anything to know what happened," Robert says, growing angry himself, though it was directed at Zack. Not at Bill.

Never at Bill.

He moves up, wading in the water, looking at Bill with a softness unlike any other.

"I'm not saying it's not good of you to want to keep your brother safe," he tells him, meaning it, "but there's only so much you an do and I do know this; if he hits you once, he's going to do it again. There is no if, there is no but, and there is no and. It's as simple as that." Bill's eyes lower. "There's nothing to be ashamed of. We all need help once in a while."

"Nobody would help me," Bill says miserably.

Robert frowns.

His next words are sincere, straight from his heart.

How he would jump to protect this boy.

In a heart's beat.

Without hesitation.

Without question.

"I would."

Bill frowns at the revelation, hearing the honesty in the older man's voice. He swallows, his cheeks blooming red, and yet he can't help but smile in happiness. In relief. In hope. Someone, other than the Losers, has his back. An adult, specifically. But most accurately;

A friend.

"Thanks."

"Anytime."

Bill smiles, a moony thing, and looks away even as he awkwardly inches closer to Robert. He misses the pointed looks Richie and Eddie are sharing as well as giving him, and the pleasant smile on Beverly's face. Mike, Stan, and Ben, as well as Georgie, remain oblivious.

He wades even closer so that he's right next to Robert, who is giving him a look of confusion. Though he frowns in understanding when he realizes Bill is looking at the scar left behind from that old life.

From Mike.

Bill frowns at the sight, lips moving to the side in a look of worry.

Robert would find it endearing, if the scar wasn't currently pulsing with white-hot, scalding pain at the moment.

Bill flinches at the sight of it, seeing that it was long and jagged, deep and savage. It ran almost all the way along the pectoral, vertically along Robert's breast. He knew it had pierced the man's heart, pierced him right through if the twin scar on his back that Bill knew, without a doubt, was real and anything to go by.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Robert says, rather lamely.

Bill gives him a look and he just chuckles.

"It's done and over with."

"Duh-Does it stuh-still huh-hurt?"

"Almost all the time."

"Why?"

Robert just shrugs.

"Phantom pains would be my guess," he says simply.

It wouldn't be the first ghost to haunt him, after all.

"Wuh-Wuh-What huh-happened?"

Robert frowns, looking away.

"A madman," he says simply, Bill frowning, open-mouthed and worried. "He had gone mad, thinking he was doing the right thing, took a little broken piece of Neibolt's old fence and... you know..." he imitates holding a long item, a sort of javelin or spear, with both hands and mimics stabbing someone. "And then..." He acts as though he's yanking it back out.

Bill shudders, horrified.

"Wuh-Why wuh-would anyone wuh-want to stuh-stab yuh-you?"

"Lots of reasons," Robert says. "He and I did not have a good past."

"That's no ruh-reason to --"

"Bill, it's done. It's happened. It's over with, and I don't blame him. He's better now," Robert says softly. "He had his reasons. I had mine."

"Huh-He could huh-have kuh-killed you..." Bill says worriedly. "I muh-mean... wuh-whatever it wuh-was cuh-couldn't huh-have buh-buh-been guh-good buh-but..."

"Trust me when I say I don't die easy," Robert says, offering him a smile. "And trust me when I say I don't plan on going anywhere for a good long time."

Bill smiles, though he still can't understand why on earth someone would want to stab Robert. Perhaps its his naivety, his childish mind unable to comprehend the reasoning behind such a heinous act, but he still doesn't think it was right. He stares at the spot. Either Robert was the healthiest son of a bitch on the planet, with the best team of doctors money could afford, or there was some miraculous chance the man, whoever he was, had missed his heart. But honestly, it looked like a clean hit.

He lifts up his hand, water dripping from his fingers, starting to reach for the spot. His eyes widen as he realizes what he's doing, and he quickly drops it back down, smacking the water as he goes. He flushes, darkly.

"Cuh-Can..." he stutters awkwardly. "Cuh-Can I... fuh-feel it?"

"Not much to feel," Robert says, not looking at him. "Knock yourself out."

Bill's lips curve into a smile.

He reaches again, water dripping from his hand as he presses his fingers against Robert's chest, atop of the scar. He doesn't miss how the man inhales sharply and he nearly retracts, but he as the older man relaxes, so does he.

Robert's skin is cold to the touch, he finds. He thought the phrase, "Cold hands, warm heart" was literal when speaking about the clown, but he hadn't realized that every inch of him was honestly cold rather than warm. He doesn't mean it in a bad way, he just doesn't understand how Robert can be cold when it's a hot summer day. Yet it doesn't seem to bother him, the boy or the man.

His fingertips brush over pale skin. He hears the sharp intake of breath as they run along the length of the scar, unaware of how his delicate touch was currently making Robert feel.

Sad.

But happy, too.

The pain was gone, no longer pulsating and throbbing, beating like its own heart. Instead he felt the warmth of Bill's touch against his skin, felt the soft fluttery feeling that came along with it. He no longer felt the pain from the memory of that old life, and instead. He lowers his eyes, almost embarrassed, when Bill presses his palm against the spot, fingers splaying across his chest, his thumb nearing the nipple.

Bill is flushing, all the way up to his ears, even as he continues to touch the spot, pressing his hand against it, the barest traces of pressure being added...

... _Almost as though he thought applying pressure would stop the bleeding_...

His eyes are alight with a deep, wide wonder. And he smiles, open-mouthed, almost grinning, as he feels the unsteady beating of Robert's heart.

He gazes up into Robert's eyes.

It was like staring into large sapphires.

Or maybe, and he was certain this was more accurate, blue stars.

Otherworldly things.

They shimmer, like glitter.

The blue of them so pronounced.

"Yuh-You cuh-could huh-have duh-died," Bill says softly.

"But I didn't," Robert says.

Bill smiles.

"I'm gluh-glad."

There's a thrum of something in the air. Almost like a spark of electricity, and --

\-- Richie ruins the moment.

"Kiss!" he yells, cupping his hands to his mouth to sound louder, grinning at the both of them. "Rub dicks!"

Eddie dunks his head in the water as retaliation, Beverly helps him. As does Georgie.

Bill pulls his hand away, but not because of what Richie said.

Yet his face is red, all over. All the way to the tips of his ears.

"Suh-Sorry..."

"Don't be."

Bill smiles.

"Wuh-Wuh-What about the other wuh-one? On... on yuh-your stuh-stomach?"

"I wasn't lying when I said animals aren't meant to be tamed," Robert says simply.

"Nuh-None of the animals cuh-could huh-have duh-done that," Bill says.

"One of them, not Zaragoza, can. And he did," Robert says.

Bill gives him an unimpressed look.

He just grins.

Bill shakes his head, smiling.

"Wuh-What about the wuh-one fruh-from Vuh-Vitaly?"

"I'd show you, but not with an audience," Robert says. "I don't trust Richie."

"Muh-Maybe nuh-next tuh-time," Bill says.

Robert smiles, sincere.

"I'd like that."

Bill would, too. He'd like that a whole lot.

"Juh-Just muh-maybe nuh-not wuh-with Ruh-Richie," he says, laughing a little. His face feels incredibly hot again as Robert takes notice of something behind him, a frown coming to his face, though Bill misses it. "Muh-Maybe wuh-we cuh-could..." He looks up, hopeful, but then frowns at the sight of Robert's eyes darkening. An angry look forming on his face.

He quickly turns around, as though expecting to see someone, maybe Belch or Bowers or Vic or just someone who would start trouble, but he doesn't see anyone anywhere. He only sees the trees and the line where the dirt meets the water.

"Wuh-What's the muh-muh-matter?"

"I..."

A breathless sound escapes him.

Almost a sound of disbelief.

With a hint of anger.

And _fear_.

He closes his eyes, remembering his own words.

 _You killed the unborn_!

He frowns, the pain coming back under his scar.

Tenfold.

 _They were sleeping_! _They couldn't protect themselves_! _And you killed them all_!

He opens his eyes, which are now downcast and sad.

"Wuh-What's ruh-wrong?"

Robert knows that the beast inside of him would devour them, just like any other predator who stumbled upon them... Yet as he looks at Bill, and glances at Georgie, both reminding him of himself and his own brother... he smiles.

"Grab Georgie," he tells him even as he realizes two things.

One, the mound of dirt is moving.

And two, the crows are coming.

"Wuh-Why?"

"Trust me, he'll love it. Bev, too."

"Oh... okay."

He watches Bill swim towards his fellow Losers and his little brother.

Life was but a series of pathways, he quickly realized. Each choice made had a series of effects soon to follow, almost like playing a game. Though this one was far more dangerous than any other, the clown knew.

He could stand by and simply watch, he could let nature take it's course, as Maturin would have.

Or, he could refuse to stand by and choose not to just watch, he could intervene rather than let nature choose its own path.

"I don't get it. It's dirt."

Georgie's voice says as he, Bill, and Beverly all stare at the dirt mound that Robert had pointed out, though they were all watching with keen interest.

"You know, sometimes it's what's inside that counts," Robert says simply. "And make sure you all watch your feet."

It's more of a barb at Ben, though he isn't present at the moment.

"What do you mean?" Beverly asks.

"Just watch," Robert tells her, looking away.

Bill doesn't miss how he keeps his distance from the mound. He looks back at it, his eyes widening as his lips part with surprise. And then, he smiles, beaming like a light.

How he _shines_.

The mound was moving, little bits of dirt rising up into an even smaller pile before a very tiny head was poking out from inside, two beady eyes blinking as they looked up, curious, at the world around it. Beverly catches on as well, sliding her hair back with both hands to get her bangs out of her eyes. Georgie's own widen as a little tiny creature, tinier than even his hand, climbs out of the dirt mound.

Bill smiles, his heart soaring.

His eyes fill with awe and wonder.

It's a _baby turtle_.

It heads for the water almost immediately, not even stopping to look about its surroundings. Even though it was so tiny, daresay puny, it hauls itself out of the mound with ease. Of course, it is stepping on its smaller siblings to be the first to get out and get to the water, lest it die. Bill watches, fascinated, as it scampers away, disappearing underneath the water, as more little heads and dirt covered shells pop out of the mound, one right after another.

He understands then why Robert would want to show him this, and it makes him feel happy to know that someone other than himself remembers that Georgie's favorite animals are turtles, and it makes him feel fluttery and happy to know that Robert wanted to show him this. Of course, it's beyond him how the hell Robert could have spotted the mound but he doesn't question it.

He's enjoying himself too much to care.

He can't help but notice, however, that the turtles pass easily by Beverly, Georgie, and himself, but when one takes a quick glance at Robert, it scurries away faster than the rest of its siblings, almost as though it was running for its life.

He counts twelve turtles.

And then number thirteen emerges.

The last one.

It starts to climb, its tiny forelegs trying to grab onto the mound but it falls back, its tiny legs flailing as it falls back into the hole. Bill frowns. He hopes it didn't land on its back. His frown deepens into a look of worry as a single black crow, black as the night sky, flutters down near them, its feet pitter pattering against the ground beneath it as it stares keenly at the nest. It watches, its eyes black and beady.

Hungry.

A sense of foreboding lingers in the air as the turtle tries to climb out again, only to fall back into the nest a second time. Beverly and Georgie are oblivious, Bill and Robert are not.

"Guh-Guh-Go suh-see if yuh-you can suh-see thuh-them," Bill tells Georgie quickly, trying not to sound too worried.

He knows you're not supposed to help him, but every instinct inside of him is screaming at him to reach into the mound before the crow does and help the turtle along its way before it gets... taken away.

Never to be seen again.

Georgie grins as he grabs Beverly's hand and leads her to where the rest of the turtles have swam away.

The turtle emerges for a third time, a look of determination on its scaly face before it slides right back down.

"It's nature," Robert says softly. Bill glances at him, frowning. There is a sadness in Robert's eyes, as well as a darkness in them. He's remembering something, and he doesn't want to. A bad memory. "This kind of thing. Crows eat turtles. Nothing can change that. Not telling Georgie would only endanger him more down the road. You know that."

"Yuh-Yeah, but..." Bill says, almost feeling ready to cry as he realizes the turtle has fallen on its back.

"She's scared," Robert says.

"Huh-How cuh-can yuh-you tuh-tell it's a guh-girl?"

"I just can."

Robert closes his eyes as the sweet aroma that wafts towards him, though it is not nearly as rich as that of a human being, but it comes pretty close. A sweetened thing, almost like a filling dessert. Or a heavy, good meal. A scrumptious dinner.

Fear.

The turtle, she is afraid.

As she should be, as not one, but two predators draw near.

The stench of death is soon to follow, though she has not yet breathed her last.

Robert wonders then if purgatory awaits him, or if he is already there.

Perhaps it was a test, and the only question now was whether or not he would fail it.

The crow pads forward, its head tilting as it looms over the mound, over the turtle, spotting its next meal in the hole.

A black beak clicks and Bill lets out a gasp of fright, but the crow croaks with shock when Robert reaches into the mound first, his hand wrapping around the turtle's shell. Of course, on instinct, she recoils into her shell, beyond terrified, her little heart beating so frantically, as the predator lifts her out of the mound.

He stares at the little thing in his hand and she stares right back, big black eyes seemingly staring into his being. Souls are still a thing for humans, he knows. To his own surprise, he does not grip the shell to the point that it would crack and break, effectively killing the miniscule creature in his hand. He does not tell Bill to look away before throwing it into into his own fang-lined maw. Nor does he feed the turtle to the crow.

He instead shoos the crow away, to which it gives an indignant croak and flies away.

The turtle's eyes narrow, and "Robert" can feel her heartbeat against his palm.

"Go on," he tells her. "Swim."

And he holds his hand just above the water, uncurling his fingers from around her shell. She emerges out of the shell, first her head, to turn her neck and stare at the giant predator with confusion, and then her limbs, to scamper off of his hand and dive into the water. She coos as she does, an elated and _grateful_ sound.

Bill smiles, his heart beating funnily.

"That wuh-was a nuh-nice thing yuh-you juh-just duh-did," Bill says.

"Maturin would agree with you," Robert says softly, voicing his sorrow.

"Duh-Did huh-he luh-like tuh-turtles?"

"Yes."

He sighs.

Heavily.

"We should leave them be," Robert says. "Lest one of us accidentally..." his eyes drift over to Ben, who is minding his own business, watching Beverly hold one of the baby turtles in both of her hands, running her finger over it while it coos happily, "... step on one."

"Guh-Good idea."

All seven Losers are watching Robert sunbathe, just as Stan, Eddie, Bill, Richie, and Ben had watched Beverly, each one with a sort of awe and interest, though there was definite envy in Ben's eyes as well as Stan's and even Richie's. Beverly was looking between Ben and Robert with a curious look on her face, despite the fact that she was wearing the heart-shaped sunglasses from the pharmacy, and after giving Robert a one last glance, she smiled at Ben.

Richie and Eddie are both looking between Beverly and Robert with the same expressions of confusion, as though neither boy can figure out which one they like better. Mike gives Beverly a smile, though he doesn't stare for too long because it's rude to stare. Richie has no shame and looks between the two of them, unsure of himself. The same as Eddie.

Stan is watching with that same look of jealousy that Ben has, though Ben's is worse. He looks away from the clown to stare down at his own belly, feeling incredibly jealous even though he knows it's silly. The guy is a clown, an acrobat, of course he would be fit and wouldn't have so much as an ounce of body fat on his person. Ben, however, makes sure nobody is watching as he takes hold of a roll in both of his hands and he glares down at it, as though willing it to disappear will make it so.

He decides then that he isn't eating any ice cream. And he's going to start doing sit-ups.

Both Robert and Beverly frown.

One because they know what Ben is thinking without being a mind reader, and the other one because they know what Ben is thinking because he can read minds.

Robert smiles as he turns his head towards them, almost all of them gasping and awkwardly looking away, trying to find something to occupy themselves with and trying not to look to obvious. He just smirks with amusement.

"So, did you get stabbed in the back or in the chest? Eddie and I have a bet going," Richie says as he grabs Ben's backpack, much to the chubby boy's annoyance.

"No, no, we don't," Eddie says quickly.

"Bullshit, you were the one that said it had to go through his back first," Richie says.

Eddie groans.

"Yeah, well, Eddie wins," Robert says.

Richie groans as Eddie grins triumphantly.

"Someone stabbed you in the back?" Mike asks, concerned. "That's messed up."

"There are things we don't talk about in life. That is one of them," Robert says.

"You told Bill, why's he so special?" Richie asks.

"Shuh-Shut it, Ruh-Ruh-Richie," Bill says.

"Will you get out of my stuff?" Ben asks.

"Hey, you're the one still going with your creepy history project," Richie says, looking at the folder. "Why's it all murders and missing kids?"

As he asks this, Bill inches towards Robert so that he's sitting next to him, though Robert doesn't move. He's still lying on his back.

"Suh-So, wuh-what kuh-kinds of things duh-do you tuh-talk about?" Bill asks, curious.

"Not much of a talker," Robert admits.

"Wuh-Well... wuh-what're suh-some things you luh-like to duh-do?" Bill asks, mostly just curious now. "Yuh-Your fuh-favorite fuh-foods?"

"Popcorn," Robert says, not exactly lying.

"Puh-Popcorn duh-doesn't cuh-count," Bill says.

"Why the hell not?" Robert asks.

"Buh-Because it's nuh-not luh-like stuh-steak or pizza or suh-something."

"I like _popcorn_ ," he says.

"Wuh-Weirdo," Bill says, smiling. "Wuh-What about... yuh-your fuh-favorite... color?"

"Really?"

"I'm juh-just asking," Bill says, smiling as he lays down next to Robert, their arms just barely brushing. "I juh-just wuh-wanna know. Cuh-Can't stuh-stop buh-being a stranger if yuh-you duh-don't guh-get to knuh-know them, ruh-right?"

"That sounds like something a pervert would say," Richie says absentmindedly as he goes through Ben's folders.

"Shut up," Bill tells him.

Robert's lips curve to the side.

He knows Bill is just trying to get to know him better, know things about the clown that friends would know about each other. It just feels strange to him to be having this conversation, because he's never thought about his favorite things before. He knows what forms he prefers, such as that of a clown, because everyone likes clowns, even the creepy ones, but still...

If he had to pick a color...

There were so many, and the shades...

He glances at Bill, who is staring him with wide, curious eyes.

Both are like pale jewels...

So very...

"Blue."

"Ruh-Really?" Bill asks, smiling. "Huh-How cuh-come?"

"Well..." Robert looks away. "Some people say it's the color of hope."

"That's nuh-nice."

"What about you?"

"Uh-Orange."

Robert smiles.

"Why's that?"

"Yuh-You know. Suh-Sunsets and suh-sunrises. Sunsets muh-mean the end of a buh-bad duh-day and suh-sunrises muh-mean the start of a nuh-new wuh-one, which might buh-be buh-buh-better than the buh-bad one."

"That's sweet."

Bill lists off things that most consider their favorites, Robert simply answering each one and Bill adding his answers..

"Suh-Season."

"Summer."

"Muh-Mine, tuh-too. Spuh-Sport?"

"Ugh. Pass."

"Suh-Suh-Same. Fuh-Favorite muh-movie?"

That one makes him pause.

"Huh-Horror?" Bill adds.

"That's a hard one," Robert admits. "There's a lot of good ones and there's a lot of bad ones."

"Yuh-Yeah..." Bill says, smiling. "I'd huh-have to suh-say _Nuh-Nightmare on Elm Struh-Street_ or _Huh-Hellruh-raiser_."

"Excellent choices," Robert says.

Although he'd rather Freddy not hear that.

Or Pinhead for that matter.

"Probably _Creepshow_ , the first one and the second one. Just... something Stephen King," he admits. "I like a lot of his works."

"Liked" being the operative word.

"Tuh-Two wuh-was buh-better than wuh-one even though it had luh-less stuh-stories," Bill says. "The thuh-third story wuh-was the scuh-scariest."

"Ah, yes, _The Hitchhiker_ ," Robert says, frowning.

Bill wasn't wrong when he said that one was the scariest.

Robert couldn't disagree.

"I muh-mean... yuh-you duh-don't knuh-know if it's huh-her guh-guilt or an actual guh-ghost even though it's Stuh-Stephen Kuh-King so a ghost isn't unexpected," Bill says, smiling obliviously. "I can't wuh-watch it with the luh-lights off. Or at nuh-night."

"Neither can I," Robert says softly, wondering something then.

He ignores how Richie snorts at him because of that, Bill flipping the other boy off as a response.

"Fuh-Favorite cuh-car," Bill says.

"Oh, that's easy," Robert says, smiling with morbid amusement. "1958 Plymouth Fury or 1967 Chevy Impala."

"Guh-Good wuh-ones," Bill says, smiling. "Fuh-Favorite... buh-book?"

"Something by King," Robert says. "It's hard to pick. There's so many good ones."

"Yuh-Yeah. Um... fuh-favorite tuh-teacher?"

"Who the hell has a favorite teacher?" Richie asks from the sidelines.

"Oh, I, I didn't... I didn't go to school," Robert says. "Circus freak, remember?"

Bill frowns, apologetic.

"Oh, I didn't muh-mean..."

Robert just smiles.

"I know."

"Okay, um... fuh-favorite..."

"Dude, get out of there," Ben complains, yanking the folder from Richie.

Bill sighs, somewhat annoyed.

Richie takes it back and hands it over to Mike, who frowns at the newspaper article.

Robert frowns next as a sense of dread pools in his gut.

"I remember this," Mike says, diverting their conversation.

Bill turns towards him, however.

"Wuh-We'll tuh-talk luh-later, ruh-right?" he asks, shyly.

"Definitely," Robert says, smiling.

Bill smiles, too.

"My grandfather, he was one of the founders," Mike says. "Before it was burnt down by that cult... my dad was my age. That was not long after he got Mr. Chips."

"Why's it all murder mysteries and missing kids, though?" Richie asks. "Haven't enough gone missing this year?"

Robert looks away as Ben speaks up.

He remembers this very conversation that six out of the seven Losers shared just before going to Ben's house to see his bedroom, to see his collection of Derry's grim history. Mike was not yet present, for he had yet to meet the Losers, and Georgie hadn't been present because he was...

... well...

Robert had been here as well, though he was Pennywise back then, or It, and had merely been a shape in the shadows, a faceless, nameless thing lurking in the dark corners, waiting for the Losers to split so he could go after the gamey little Eddie as the leper...

"Derry's not like any other town I've been in before," Ben says. "They did a study once and it turns out people die or disappear six times the national average."

That makes them all look up, even Georgie. There is a dark stench in the air, something foul lingering like a dark presence. Bill frowns as he stares meaningfully at his little brother, guilt stirring his insides even as he glances at Robert, who he can't help but feel grateful for. Because if not for Robert...

That makes Robert's guilt worsen, just the same.

When Bill thinks of Cheryl as well as Esther, and Ed and Dorsey, as well as Betty and Veronica, he can't help but feel even worse. He has not a clue the clown has the same problem, just for a different reason.

They all know that kids go missing in this town, or at least people do go missing. They, like everyone else, turn a blind eye to it, though not because of Robert's influence. Not anymore.

Not ever again.

"You read that?" Beverly asks, surprised.

"And that's just grown ups," Ben says. "I mean... they haven't technically listed Mr. Macklin as missing, even though his wife thinks that's the case." Bill and Robert both scoff and scowl at the mention of her. Both know she's far more concerned with the return of her husband than she is the return of her eldest son and the safety of her youngest. "Kids are worse. Way, way worse."

"Then wouldn't you rather forget?" Richie asks. "I mean, it's happened so why worry about it?"

"It'll just keep happening if someone doesn't worry," Robert says. "The less you know about history, the more likely it is to repeat itself. Hiding it away doesn't make the problem go away. Look at Freddy Krueger."

"That's a movie," Stan says quietly.

"Yes, but the point is the same," Robert says. "If you forget, it can come back to haunt you. Believe me, I know."

Bill frowns at that.

"Just because bad things happened in the past doesn't mean they should be forgotten. If anything, they should be remembered for that very reason," Robert tells them. "So it doesn't happen twice."

"That's nuh-nice," Bill says. "Almost puh-poetic."

Ben glances at Beverly at that, a smile forming on his chubby cheeks.

Georgie walks over to his big brother, flopping himself down on Bill's stomach.

"Tell me a story," he says, looking at Bill with big, doe-like eyes.

Bill's eyes widen.

Embarrassment bubbles inside of him, especially as Richie, Eddie, and Stan all perk up. Beverly and Mike as well.

"The magic stone story," Georgie adds. "Please, Bill? Please?"

"Nuh-No, Guh-Georgie."

"Why not?" Eddie asks. "That's a good one."

"What's the magic stone story?" Beverly asks, curious.

"It's nuh-nothing," Bill says quickly.

"It's not _nothing_ ," Eddie says, disbelieving. "It's one of the best things you've ever written. And that's saying something."

Bill groans with embarrassment.

They're just stupid stories -- Robert's eyes flash unhappily -- they're nothing serious.

"Come on, dude, it's a good one," Richie says. "And that's coming from me."

Bill glares at him.

"I tuh-told yuh-you tuh-to stuh-stay out of muh-my nuh-notebuh-book."

"All I did was ask you for the notes," Richie says. "Not my fault you gave me the wrong one."

"Yuh-You still huh-handed it to Stuh-Stan and E-E-Eddie."

"No," Richie says, pointedly. "Eddie snatched it out of my hand and then he handed it to Stan."

"You have circumstantial evidence at best," Eddie says. He turns towards Bill, "Come on, dude, that's my favorite one."

"I wanna hear it," Beverly says, beaming.

Bill frowns, embarrassment making his insides squirm uncomfortably.

He turns towards Robert, as though he'll help him out of this, even as Georgie pokes him in the stomach, repeatedly, to get him to tell the story.

"Don't look at me," Robert says, smiling at him. "If you think it sucks, then it's definitely good."

Bill flushes, ears to neck, and sighs dejectedly.

"I hate all of you," he mutters.

Robert twitches, though he knows there's no actual malice or malevolence behind Bill's words.

He watches Bill open his mouth and start reciting the poem, speaking from his heart.

He knows this story.

He's heard it countless times.

It is Georgie's favorite, after all. And Roberta's.

And his own.

He's loved it since Bill first told it to him, though the boy had been shy about it even though they shared a mindscape...

... back then, at least.

He falls into a trance, same as the rest of them, who are all watching with interest and awe or are gazing into nothing at all, like himself, and listening to Bill tell the story. He is quite sure, almost positive, that Bill is not aware of the fact that he isn't stuttering. And the thing Robert loves most about this story, loves more than anything else, except maybe one thing, is the _ending_.

"They felt its breath hot and horrible against their faces but at that moment they released the stones and ran out of the cave," Bill continues, running his fingers through Georgie's hair now. Richie's head was on Eddie's lap, Ben and Beverly were sitting together, and Mike and Stan were both enjoying it immensely. Robert had not moved once, his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses, so Bill had no idea if he had put him to sleep. Same as Georgie. "Now they were back home but nothing could change the way they felt. They had learned to be strong together. They had beaten the dragon with their magic stones and nothing would ever be the same again."

There was an note of pleasantness in the air, a hint of satisfaction.

Eddie smiles.

"You gotta write that one down in something better than your notebook, dude," he says. "It's my favorite."

Bill looks away, bashful, as Ben and Stan nod in agreement.

"Really excellent," Stan adds.

"Beautiful," Beverly says, smiling.

Bill looks over at Robert, who just smiles at him.

"Magical."

Bill flushes the most at that one.

"It's just a duh-dumb story," Bill says bashfully. All of them jerk their heads up, even Ben, with disbelief. "It juh-just puts Guh-Georgie to sluh-sleep."

"Dude, it's so good," Mike says. "You could... you could be a writer."

Bill flushes as the Losers all voice their agreements.

"And the ending wasn't shit, so that was awesome," Richie adds, making Bill roll his eyes.

"Druh-Dream on, Ruh-Richie," Bill says quietly. "All I've guh-got is nuh-notebuh-books and puh-pens and puh-pencils. It's just a stuh-story. It's nuh-nothing suh-serious."

"It could be," Robert says, knowing that was the case. "You've got the brains for it. Most people don't." He glances at Richie as he says that, smirking knowingly. "You only grow up once. You want to do something you enjoy. Not just anybody can come up with something like that. All you need is a typewriter."

Bill scoffs, though he is flattered.

"Druh-Dream on, they're suh-so expensive."

"Save up and buy one," Stan says.

"Muh-Maybe..."

Bill stares at Robert, curious again.

"Wuh-What'd you wuh-want to buh-buh-be wuh-when yuh-you were a kuh-kid?"

Oh, that's right.

They still think...

"Mm."

Robert shrugs as he pulls off the sunglasses.

"Never really thought about it," he admits. "Always a clown."

"Suh, suh-so yuh-you gruh-grew up with the c-circus?"

"Kinda."

"What's 'kinda'?" Richie asks.

"None you're damn business is what it is," Robert says, though he smiles. "Nah. I'm just a guy from the circus. A clown. A circus freak, as Bowers put it."

"Still..."

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" Eddie asks. "And if you don't say writer, I will hurt you."

Bill just smiles.

"Muh-Maybe I'd buh-become a p-puh-pianist," he says, looking at Robert.

"No way, dude," Beverly says. "You're a better writer than a pianist, and I heard you. I know."

He just shakes his head, still smiling as Richie adds;

"Ew." Richie says, groaning. He grins next, however. "I'd be a comedian."

"You'd have to be funny first," Robert says, making the Losers laugh.

"Fuck you, dude. Fuck you," Richie says.

"Either a doctor or something like that," Eddie says, smiling.

"You'd be sticking your hands in people for surgeries or dealing with sick people," Richie says, Eddie frowning now. "You'd be better off as a pharmacist or some shit like that."

"Maybe," Eddie says thoughtfully.

"How about you, Bev?" Richie asks.

"An artist, maybe," she says, smiling. "Or something to do with clothes."

"An architect," Ben says. "I like to build things. Construction, stuff like that. Not just the clubhouse."

"An ornithologist," Stan says. "Or an accountant."

"That last one, I could say something really offensive right now," Richie says.

"Shut up," Stan says, shaking his head. "How about you, Mike?"

Mike shrugs, grinning shyly.

"I dunno. I've never really thought about it before," he says. He holds his football up, smiling at it. "I've always liked sports. So maybe a football player or something like that."

"Baseball is pretty good, too," Stan pitches in.

That was not intentional.

Mike just nods, smiling.

"What does Georgie want to be?" he asks.

Georgie doesn't answer.

The thumb in his mouth proves Robert's next statement.

"Oh, he's out cold," Robert says, knowing that was the case.

"Yuh-Yeah... I knew it was a buh-bad idea," Bill says. "I dunno. I know huh-he luh-likes animals. Tuh-Turtles muh-mostly."

"Maybe he'd be a zookeeper. Or a marine biologist," Eddie throws in.

"That sounds cool," Beverly says, smiling. "Bet it'll be the second one."

Robert is frowning again.

He doesn't know what Georgie would've been when he --

\-- well, _if_ he had grown up...

"Bet Gretta and Bowers don't get out of this town," Richie says. "If Bowers ends up a cop, I'm getting out of here."

"Same," Eddie, Mike, Stan, and Beverly all say together.

"I dunno," Bill says, frowning. "Muh-Maybe huh-he'd buh-be a buh-better cuh-cop than huh-his duh-dad."

"You really think that?" Eddie asks, shaking his head. "Uh uh. You know how he is."

"Well, you never know," Ben says softly. "I, uh..." he clears his throat. "About the history stuff..."

"Yeah, dude, you could be a historian of Derry's cold case files," Richie says.

"I got more of it... if any of you want to see... before we get the ice cream?"

"One small problem," Richie says, looking at Georgie. "Who's going to carry him?"

All of them look at Bill.

Bill looks at Robert.

How a being like Itself ended up carrying an unconscious seven-year-old to a car that was "borrowed" is beyond him. Bill, of course, having to dress his little brother even though he brought a new meaning to dead weight. His little limbs are dangling almost precariously, and while Bill trusts him, the scene is beyond endearing and heartwarming. Of course, almost all of the Losers stare, wide-eyed and gawking, at the car.

Bill stares along with them, faintly surprised.

He knows Robert said it was one of his favorites, but he didn't know he really meant it.

Bright cherry red.

Just like the one from the movie, only cleaner and Bill figured it was less likely to be possessed by some kind of ghost or some kind of demonic entity. He, like Beverly, and the rest of the Losers, figure that the clown has more money than he's letting on. Bill doesn't care about that, however.

"Sweet ride," Richie comments. "Can I get a picture?"

"No," Robert says, opening the back door.

Bill carefully takes his brother, almost buckling under his weight.

He points a finger at Richie, a knowing look in his starlight blue eyes.

"And no asking for Def Leppard montages."

Bill just snorts with laughter as Richie frowns.

"How'd he know I was going to ask that?" he whispers to Stan, who shrugs.

"Guh-Good thing yuh-you druh-drove instead of ruh-riding a buh-bike," Bill says as the trunk pops open. Bill pushes Silver towards it. "Thuh-Thanks fuh-for this."

"Anytime," Robert says sincerely. "But I don't ride bikes."

"Ruh-Right, buh-because yuh-you've guh-got a cuh-car," Bill says, smiling as the rest of the Losers mount their bikes, not listening. "Yuh-You wouldn't nuh-need a buh-bike."

"Well, that and I've never rode one before," Robert says.

Bill frowns.

"Ruh-Really?"

"I didn't have the typical... childhood... most people tend to have," Robert says simply, not wanting to talk about it.

"Yuh-You cuh-could buh-borrow Suh-Silver," Bill says, swallowing nervously. "Yuh-You knuh-know, to pruh-practice."

"Don't need to," Robert says as Stan takes notice of the plate.

"What's that say?" he asks, pointing.

Eddie and Richie both look, Beverly next.

"B-E-A-T-N-G-U?" Eddie reads off, confused. " _Beating_ you?"

Robert just smiles, trying not to grin and he shakes his head.

"Oh!" Beverly grins, pointing. "Be _eating_ you!"

"That sounds vaguely dirty," Richie says. "Is it still a no to the Def Leppard?"

Bill rolls his eyes as he puts Silver in the trunk, shutting it right after.

Ben is running for his bedroom, almost knocking his mom over as he races up the stairs to try and put some of his things away lest the Losers, mostly Beverly, think he's messy. He really hopes Beverly will think this is cool. He knows the clown, well, Robert, agrees that history is important, he just really hopes Beverly likes it, too. He also makes a point of opening his bedroom door all the way, mostly so that none of them, especially Beverly, see his _New Kids on the Block_ poster.

He grabs a magazine and a pair of his dirty laundry and throw both into his closet, shutting the door behind himself. He grins boyishly and turns towards the bedroom door at the sound of footsteps, and then he panics when he realizes it's his mom. She goes to his closet and pulls the underwear and the magazine out.

"Just hiding them doesn't get them clean, Benny," she says.

"Sorry," Ben says quietly.

She just smiles at him.

"Glad to see you finally made some friends, though," she says.

"Me too," Ben admits.

"Any reason though, why one of them is a grown man?"

"Uh, he's the clown," Ben says. At her confusion, he continues; "You know. The guy from the circus. He's a good guy. He's my friend, too. Robert. Or... Pennywise... I dunno, Bill uses his name."

"What's he like?" Arlene asks as she sits on her son's bed.

"He's nice," Ben says. "He's not creepy, either. So, uh, nothing to worry about there..." he sighs. "Richie swears a lot... Eddie, too... but they're cool, too. Bill and Georgie are brothers, Georgie's the smaller one, and Mike and Stan are cool, too... and Beverly is..."

He trails off, a smile forming on his face as his eyes shine.

Arlene doesn't miss this.

She smiles.

"You like her."

"Yeah..." Ben says. "I, uh... I wanted you to meet her, actually..." he looks awkwardly away. "But... I just didn't expect to bring the whole group."

Arlene just shakes her head fondly.

She'd hoped her son would find some good friends to hang around with. They'd been so so many towns before they finally settled in Derry and she knows nobody wants to hang out with him.

"We're all getting ice cream next," Ben says. "'Cause it's the clown's birthday and Bill really wants this to happen."

"Oh, that's nice," Arlene says. "Do you need the money, or?"

"Uh, no, no, no, I'm good," Ben says, smiling in an unconvincing way.

Arlene sighs.

"Benny, we talked about this," she says.

"I know," he says glumly.

"There is nothing wrong with getting ice cream. You are not fat."

"Tell that to Bowers," Ben says. "I'm Tubby or Fatty or all kinds of other mean names, a lot I'm not supposed to say in front of you." Arlene frowns. He neglects to show her his cut, however. That's a secret he'll take to the grave if he can. He sighs. "I dunno. I don't want it."

"You love ice cream."

"I also hate being called fat."

Arlene shakes her head.

"I can't make you get it but... fine. Just promise me you won't take to not eating," she says. Ben nods. She sighs. "Beverly, huh?"

"Yeah, uh... have you..." Ben awkwardly begins. "Be nice to her, will you?"

At her raised eyebrow, he quickly continues.

"She's... she's got no other friends... at least, none that are girls... She's... she's been through a lot and..."

"Benny, I'm not going to look her over and then make my judgment," Arlene says, turning around, unaware that Beverly was walking in the bedroom, a curious look on her face as she looked at the papers taped on Ben's walls. "We judge people based on their actions."

Beverly's eyes widen as she looks up into the eyes of Mrs. Hanscom.

Her eyes widen against her will as she hesitantly swallows.

"Hello, Mrs. Hanscom," she says quickly, fearfully.

Arlene just turns back towards Ben.

She beams.

She means her next words.

"You picked a good one, Benny," she says. "There's lemonade and cookies downstairs. And it's Arlene," she tells Beverly before walking out of the room, Ben's underwear and magazine in her hand. She calls down the hallway, however, "And you're eating some, Benny!"

Beverly turns towards him, her eyes wide with confusion.

"Is it always that easy?" she asks.

Ben just shakes his head, mouthing;

"No."

"Do I get to call her Arlene, too?" Richie asks as he walks into the room, grinning.

Ben glares at him.

"No," Ben says.

The rest of the Losers follow, along with Georgie, who is tiredly rubbing his eyes.

"I knuh-knew tuh-telling yuh-you a stuh-story wuh-was a buh-bad idea," Bill tells him.

Georgie just groans tiredly and hides his face in Bill's stomach.

Ben frowns.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight...

"Where's the other guy?" he asks Bill.

Because Bill would know, right?

"Huh-He's tuh-talking tuh-to yuh-your muh-mom," Bill tells him. "It's guh-going buh-better than wuh-when huh-he muh-met muh-my duh-dad."

"Oh."

"Yeah, if only meeting Eddie's mom went that great," Richie says, grinning a shit-eating grin. And then he looks around. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wow."

Ben smiles.

"Cool, huh?"

Richie shakes his head.

"No, no, nothing cool," Richie tells him, making him frown, as the rest of them look around curiously, Mike especially.

Bill takes notices of little projector slides on Ben's desk. He frowns as he recognizes the layouts and routes from his dad's worksheets that Georgie drew on. He takes one and looks up at it, holding it up near the window.

"This is cool," Eddie says. "Right here. Oh, no, no it's not. It's not cool."

"Sure, it is," Mike says. "I mean, it helps pass the time and you learn interesting stuff."

"Even if it's grimmer than the Grim Reaper?" Richie asks.

Ben just smiles smugly.

"What's that?" Stan asks, pointing at something on the wall.

"Oh, that. That's the Charter for Derry Township."

"Nerd alert," Richie says.

"Actually, it's, it's really interesting," Ben says. "Derry started as a beaver trapping camp."

"Still is, am I right boys?" Richie asks, grinning as eh holds his hand up for a high five.

Stan nor Eddie give it to him and Beverly rolls her eyes.

"That's just gross," Georgie mumbles into Bill's stomach.

"Hit puberty then you'll understand," Richie retorts.

"Shut it," Bill spits.

Ben shrugs as Robert walks into the room.

His introduction to Arlene Hanscom went far better than it did with Zack Denbrough, that was for sure. He frowns at he sight of Ben's bedroom, however. He's seen it, once before, with the rest of the Losers, only Mike was still not yet with them and Georgie certainly wasn't... He closes his eyes and sighs. He reopens them to see the very picture of the Charter for Derry Township being signed, the picture where he had manifested his own face, watching the Losers with suspicion as they started to unravel Derry's dark history. Only instead of the face he currently wore, it had been the face of Pennywise.

He stares almost miserably, daresay longingly, at the photographs on the walls. All of the missing reports. The burning of The Black Spot. He doesn't stare longingly because he wishes to go back to that old life, but instead stares longingly in the sense that he wishes he could undo all those horrible things he did. Except for the ones that really had it coming.

He runs his fingers along the pages of a missing kid report, unaware that Bill was staring at him curiously.

"91 people signed the Charter that made Derry but that winter they all disappeared without a trace," Ben tells him.

Well, that was grim.

"The entire camp?" Eddie asks, disbelieving.

"There are rumors of Indians but no sign of an attack," Ben explains.

Robert walks up to the picture of the Charter being signed, running his fingers along the length of it, not seeing his own face looking back at him. Not seeing the face of Pennywise the Dancing Clown lurking between the dead men in the photograph. The men he had killed and eaten. Not even leaving their bones for the worms.

"Everybody thought it was just a plague or something," Ben adds.

"Because a plague would make everyone drop off the face of the earth," Robert says.

"Yeah..." Ben says softly. "It's like one day everybody just woke up and left." There was a somber note in the air. A darkness lingering, though not a single Loser felt as though they were being watched. And Georgie was half asleep while standing up. "The only clue was a trail of bloody clothes leading to the well house."

"Jesus, talk about Derry's unsolved mysteries. Hey, Bill, maybe you could write a book about it," Richie says.

Ben turns around, his stomach dropping, when he hears his door squeaking on its hinges. Beverly smiles, pleasantly amused, at him as she stares at the poser on his door. She realizes then that he was trying to hide it. He gives her a look and she just smirks. The clown helps himself, he rolls his eyes, smiling with amusement.

Bill continues looking through the slides.

Robert waits for him to pop the question, to ask Ben about where the well house was at, but he doesn't. Of course, he remembers then that Bill wouldn't want to know, because Georgie was still alive and he didn't have any false hope that his little brother could've somehow ended up down in the sewer system somewhere if the storm in October had swept him away.

He walks towards him, Bill smiling at him.

"Funny thing, history," Robert says. "So many bad things and people try to forget. Yet somehow it finds a way to come back and bite them in the ass."

He isn't stupid enough to try and hide any of Ben's maps to the location of the well house, either. Not that he really needs to, because none of them are very keen to look. None of them are even thinking about finding it.

"Yuh-Yeah," Bill says before putting the slide back down.

"Screw this, I'm getting some of Ben's mom's cookies," Richie says.

"Don't hog them all," Eddie says, running after him.

Beverly rolls her eyes.

"I thought it was interesting," she says, opening the door so that the others don't see the poster. Ben smiles. "I think your mom liked me."

"Better than your dad liked me, I'll bet," Ben says as they walk out together.

"Why does Ben get to meet her dad?" Stan asks as he walks out with Mike.

"I don't know."

Georgie follows.

Robert knows that once he's done eating ice cream, he's out for the night.

"Huh-He truh-tried to fuh-find yuh-you, yuh-you know," Bill tells him quietly once they're alone. Robert gives him a glance as he looks over the slides, taking hold of the one Bill had a moment ago. "Huh-He used our duh-dad's work puh-puh-papers and thought yuh-you were in the Buh-Barrens."

"Mm."

He knows that.

He was, after all, the one to tell Georgie that Ben needed help.

Just as he was the one who tried, and failed, to kill Patrick after. It took him until nightfall to do so, and by then he was nearly too late...

"Thanks for keeping the storm drain incident a secret by the way," Robert says, unsure of what else he's supposed to say. He's never been much of a conversationalist, after all. "That would have been embarrassing."

"Yeah," Bill says. He smiles. "Suh-So, wuh-where duh-do you thuh-think the wuh-well huh-house is now?"

"Neibolt," Robert tells him. He holds up the slide, handing it back to Bill. "Derry is connected by the sewer system, you know. And if you look at the slides real carefully, you can see Neibolt was built above it."

"Ruh-Really?" Bill asks, surprised. "Duh-Did yuh-you always knuh-know that or..."

"Ben's slides helped," he says, mostly truthful. He always knew, of course.

"Huh... that cuh-could buh-be guh-good or buh-bad."

Robert smiles.

"The Boogeyman isn't going to come and get me if that's what you're thinking," Robert tells him. He smiles at how Bill's cheeks darken. He ignores the butterfly-like fluttering of his own heart. "The Boogeyman would be far more scared of me than I would be of him."

"You're nuh-not scuh-scary."

"Maybe I just don't want to scare you," Robert tells him. "Also, don't be surprised if Richie gets hit upside the head with a scoop of ice cream. But whether it'll be me or Ben, that's hard to say."

"Wuh-Why wuh-would Buh-Buh-Ben?"

"Because he's trying to get out of eating any ice cream and Richie is annoying."

"Cuh-Can't argue wuh-with that."

Bill smiles.

"Thanks again fuh-for the car ruh-ride."

"I wasn't going to have you carry Georgie all the way back home," Robert says.

"Huh-How duh-does a circus ruh-ringleader afford suh-something luh-like that anyway? And the silver knuckles?"

"A magician never reveals his secrets, Billy," Robert tells him.

Bill smiles.

"Wuh-We should huh-hang out muh-more. Buh-But... um..." he grows increasingly shy, much to the clown's confusion. He's still not reading thoughts, after all. "... muh-maybe... without the gruh-group?"

"I suppose so."

"I could tuh-teach yuh-you huh-how tuh-to ride a buh-bike," Bill says hopefully.

"You're not going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Nuh-No."

Robert grins, chuckling.

"Alright, I'll give you that one."

Bill just smiles, though it dims again.

"I'm suh-sorry..."

"Don't be. The dog --"

"It's not the dog..."

Robert sighs.

"I know."

He bends his knees so that he's not looming over Bill, and he can tell the boy appreciates it.

"I know, Bill. It wasn't your fault. You used my name and he used that against you. He didn't need to look into Bob Gray and Mrs. Kersh, he just did. To be honest, I don't care. That's on him, not you." Bill shrugs, still looking apologetic.

"Huh-He truh-tried to throw it in muh-my fuh-face," Bill tells him, though Robert knows this already. "I guh-get that yuh-you duh-didn't wuh-want to tuh-talk about it. Huh-He said it was one of the muh-most g-gruh-grisly m-muh-murders and Muh-Mrs. Kersh nuh-never tuh-told anyone and I cuh-can't bluh-blame her."

 _Neither can I_ , Robert thinks grimly.

"I cuh-can't bluh-blame yuh-you either fuh-for nuh-not wuh-wanted to tuh-talk about it..."

"It's still not your fault, Bill," Robert tells him.

He frowns as Bill lowers his eyes.

Perhaps it was against better judgment, but he takes hold of Bill's chin with gentle fingers and turns Bill's head to the side so he can see the renewed bruises on the boy's face. Running along the expanse of his chin and his jawline, all in the shape of fingerprints. Bill refuses to look at him.

"This might be a creepy question for me to ask but why did you keep your shirt on at the quarry, Bill?"

He knows the answer.

It has nothing to do with the slashes on Bill's body.

From himself.

And her.

Bill's eyes sting and water and he trembles even as he pulls down the collar of his shirt, revealing his shoulder. Robert closes his eyes, trying not to hiss angrily, at the scent of fear that manifests like a dark storm cloud. He sees the bruises, deep and nasty purplish indents. He can smell Bill's fear wafting around him, but he feels no hunger. Only disgust. He knows that the boy is afraid of anyone, Robert, telling on his dad, fear of what his dad will do to him if he finds out, fear of what his dad might try to start with Robert, and fear of Robert rejecting him.

That last one hurts the clown's feelings, honestly.

He knows, however, that Zack would've had to have kept his hand there for quite some time for it to bruise that badly and that quickly. That also explains, of course, why Bill was making sure to use the quarry water to scrub at himself.

To get the _smell_ off.

None of the Losers questioned it, because he had purposefully kept his distance from them so they wouldn't smell it and wouldn't ask.

"Pluh-Please duh-don't buh-buh-be muh-mad," Bill says, his voice cracking.

Robert opens his eyes, frowning.

 _I lost it_ , _Billy_. _Don't be mad_...

"I'm not mad at you," Robert tells him, his voice soft and gentle. Almost timid. He can't help but run his fingers along Bill's bangs, silently enjoying the softness of the auburn locks. Bill doesn't seem to mind, either. As a matter of fact, every muscle in the boy's body releases the tension they're all holding. He even presses his face into Robert's hand, his cheek held in the clown's palm. "It isn't your fault and he has no right to put his hands on you. Just say the word, and I'll rip his arms from his torso."

Bill trembles with tears, honestly half tempted to take Robert up on that offer.

"I... I duh-don't luh-like it," Bill confesses in a whisper, as though afraid someone will hear. Ben's bedroom does seem like a strange place to share such secrets, though Robert already knew pieces of it. "Huh-He huh-hit muh-me over the cuh-card and ruh-wrecked it... I guh-get that huh-he was muh-mad buh-but you're a guh-good guh-guy," Robert flinches. Bill scowls. "I muh-mean it. You're a buh-better muh-man than him."

"That's not saying much, little buddy," Robert tells him.

"Yes, it is," Bill tells him, fat tears sliding down his cheeks. "Buh-But yuh-you're nuh-not a stranger and yuh-you're not buh-bad... yuh-you could've taken Guh-Georgie in October and nuh-none of us wuh-would huh-have known." Robert's frown deepens. "Suh-See? You wuh-wouldn't have. Yuh-You're muh-my fruh-friend and huh-he just..."

He whines.

A feeble, petrified thing.

"It _stinks_."

He openly starts to cry, uncaring if someone walks in.

He takes hold of Robert's wrist, needing something to hold onto.

"Huh-He... huh-he juh-just... after... after the duh-dogs luh-left huh-he muh-made muh-me guh-go to muh-my ruh-room and huh-he... huh-held muh-me duh-d-uh-down and... it _stinks_ in my buh-bedroom even though I opened the wuh-window. It _stuh-stinks_ of the puh-puh-puh-p-p --"

Bill stutters on his words, not because of his condition but because of his fear.

Of his _terror_.

"Sh. Sh. Sh. It's okay," Robert tells him, shushing him. He takes hold of Bill's face with both hands, his touch beyond tender and gentle. "It's okay. He's not here right now."

Bill grabs onto him, wrapping his arms around Robert's neck as he did after hugging Vitaly, only this time he bawls into the clown's shoulder, tears getting onto the leather jacket but Robert doesn't give a shit. He hides his own face in Bill's neck, otherworldly orange orbs glowing inside of his skull as he holds Bill close. One hand cups the back of the boy's head and the other wraps around his body, holding him tightly. Not to the point that it would hurt, but it's a protective thing.

"Sh. Sh. Sh. Sh."

Bill blubbers into Robert's shoulder, uncaring.

The rest of the Losers are enjoying the day outside with lemonade and cookies, and Arlene and Beverly are actually hitting it off, Robert knows. Ben is almost envious, but he's mostly happy to see his mom and Beverly getting along so well. None of them, not even Georgie, are aware of the lingering darkness in Ben's bedroom.

 _I'll kill him_ , Robert promises. _I'll kill him_ , _Bill_.

Bill openly weeps, bawling like a baby, his screams of his fear muffled into the clown's shoulder even as he takes comfort in the sweet smells of cotton candy, hot dogs, peanuts, and his absolute favorite, popcorn.

It isn't enough, however. Now that the dam has broke, he can't stop the flood.

He is certain they go on for a full minute, with him blubbering on the clown, using him as his own personal snot rag, as Robert shushes him and rocks him almost like a baby, holding his head. Bill knows, deep down, that he must be making him uncomfortable, but Robert doesn't seem to care. If anything, he guesses it's making him more mad.

It just feels so _nice_ to be held and comforted, like his mom used to do whenever he would get hurt, whether it was from falling off of his bike and getting a scrape or getting beat up by Bowers and his goons. It felt _nice_ to know that someone in this town, other than his friends and his little brother, actually gave a shit about him.

Who would probably honestly kill his dad if Bill gave him the say-so.

The idea should disturb him, but it just doesn't.

But he can't stop crying.

Until he does stop, the boy blinking away his tears as he hears something.

Not the rampant footsteps of Richie or probably Eddie coming to find them, both boys probably wondering where the hell he was at, or even Georgie. But instead, he hears something soft and sweet, though the voice itself is deep and the _melody_ is foreign to him.

Singing.

Robert is _singing_ to him.

He his chest heaves in jerky movements as he listens.

It's another language, he knows that instantly, because he's never heard anything like it, but he doesn't think he knows the actual language itself and it sounds so foreign, so far away from something he would have heard before, and it sounds nothing like Spanish, a class he had failed at mostly because of his stutter, and he trembles, smiling.

He gets it instantly.

It's not just some random tune from the radio or something similar. It's not just something Robert came up with himself, though it does make Bill think of the circus and it's lovely music.

Piping music.

There are no beats, not that Robert needs any.

He grins a watery grin.

It's a _lullaby_.

Robert holds him like that for another good minute, simply murmuring that beautiful lullaby into his ear. It's unlike anything he's ever heard before, a song that seems like it was not of this _world_.

A song written in the stars, like a constellation.

Otherworldly and _beautiful_.

Bill trembles, making a choked sound even as he smiles, unable to stop doing that now. He finds it hard to swallow, but he still holds Robert close.

"Wuh-What is that?" he asks. "That suh-song?"

"It's my own," Robert tells him, in English. "I... I don't want to talk about it."

"Oh-Okay..."

Bill sniffles and sighs, knowing he must've just embarrassed the hell out of himself just now.

"It's okay," Robert tells him. "You say the word, I'm there."

"Yuh-You muh-may nuh-not always buh-buh-be around," Bill says tearfully, fearfully.

"I will be," Robert promises him.

"Yuh-You duh-don't knuh-know that," Bill tells him, almost croaking.

"I would move the stars for you, Bill," Robert tells him.

That makes his heart pound, something powerful.

"Thank you," he murmurs.

"Anytime," Robert promises.

"This is guh-going to buh-be awkward to explain..."

"Then don't say anything if you don't want to," Robert tells him. "The Losers understand, more than anyone else, how it feels to want to not talk about things. Look at Stan and his father. Mike and his grandfather. Eddie and his mom. Beverly and her dad."

"Yuh-Yeah..." Bill murmurs, not bothering to ask how Robert would know all that.

Of course, Robert has always been in Derry. Since October, hasn't he?

"Come on, I'll pay for the ice cream. I've been told that it's an excellent comfort food," he says.

Bill smiles.

"No, no, I couldn't... It's yuh-your buh-birthday..."

"I mean, it isn't, this is just the day we're celebrating it, but I want to," Robert says. "Besdies, we both know Richie blew all his money at the arcade."

Bill laughs at that.

He wipes his eyes on his sleeves.

"I'll even let you drive Christine one of these days," Robert adds.

"I'm thuh-thirteen," Bill tells him, though the idea has merit.

Oh, he'd love to cruise by Belch in that thing. Passenger or driver.

"So? You're only in trouble if you get caught," Robert tells him.

"Suh-Sure, buh-but I'm p-pretty sure puh-people wuh-will nuh-notice a thirteen year old in the druh-driver's suh-seat."

"Maybe, I'll just toss you in the back seat with Georgie."

Bill just smiles, biting his lip as a childish grin forms on his face, his eyes lighting up as they widen.

Robert stands and Bill takes his hand.

"Thuh-Thank yuh-you... fuh-for... everything..."

Robert just smiles, sweet and sincere.

"What're friends for, Bill?"

His smile is sweet, like sugar, and full, like honey, but Bill's lips curve into a frown even as the clown leads him out of Ben's bedroom and towards the bathroom to get him cleaned up. He feels like everything is zooming in on him, crushing him almost.

That word _stings_ for a reason he doesn't understand, or maybe it's just a reason he doesn't want to admit.

Yet some kind of feeling akin to longing stirs in his belly.

Friends.

 _Just_ friends?

It's silly if not creepy, even though Robert is definitely not some twisted pervert, and he gets that it's beyond weird to feel this way. Robert isn't a stranger, not anymore, not after Bill blubbered all over him and Robert knows his home life isn't the greatest. He is Bill's friend, because no matter what Robert doesn't judge him, he doesn't judge anyone, Bill doesn't think, and he knows that Robert would jump to his defense if Bill asked him too...

Bill knows it's just wishful thinking but...

Just _friends_?

The question comes to his mind, and he asks it before he can stop himself.

"Huh-How old are yuh-you anyway?"

"Why?" Robert asks, confused as he grabs toilet paper and wets it in the sink. He wipes it on Bill's face, the boy not stopping him.

Bill flinches at his own stupidity, figuring that if Robert hasn't celebrated any of his birthdays, not even one, then he really must not actually know how old he is. For that, he feels like a jerk.

"I muh-mean... yuh-you luh-look like yuh-you could be almost thuh-thirsty but ruh-really you're twuh-twenty or suh-something..."

"I'd say 20," Robert says.

Maturin, brother, was equal. He was 20 billion years upon the time of his death.

"Oh... good --" Robert frowns in confusion. Bill averts his eyes. "I mean... cool..."

7 years.

There was a 7 year difference between them, give or take.

Although Bill figured it would be another 2 years before he actually understood what the hell was wrong with him. When he was about Bowers' age. He sighs even as he stares up at Robert, who is cleaning him up. He smiles, grateful, his heart beating funnily again.

He's screwed, he knows.

Because there's no way this is going to stay a crush.

"Oh my God just pick a flavor already," Stan complains, Eddie nodding in agreement.

Both of the boys are already annoyed, of course, Richie has been standing in front of the cooler for fifteen good minutes trying to pick a flavor, his face pressed against the glass and Eddie has to keep pulling him off of it, the boy complaining about how many other kids already probably touched it. Even the shopkeeper was starting to look annoyed.

Stan is holding a scoop of rainbow sherbet and Eddie is holding a coffee ice cream. Both boys had their choices made when they first stepped into the quaint little shop.

"You won't let me get every flavor and I'd be a dick to make the clown pay for it on his birthday and even if I did, this is a serious matter!" Richie says unhappily. "Um... Super --" the shopkeeper starts to reach for the ice cream, "-- No, wait!" His hands clench around the scooping spoon.

Robert just smiles, more amused than annoyed, though his anger lingers at the thought of Zack Denbrough stepping in this sweet little place. It's actually really cute. It's a small building, with quite a few booths and tables set up, all mostly white or pale pinks and greens in color, with every ice cream flavor ready at the scoop of the spoon. Some of the tiles on the walls and the floor are brightly colored, pinks and yellows, greens and blues, almost like Pennywise's balloons.

But Robert had nothing to do with this ice cream parlor, so figure that out.

The shopkeeper is wearing all white and he knows it's a private owned business, and the shopkeeper is the only one working at the moment, although he can't help but feel that the shopkeeper looks vaguely familiar somehow. An older fellow with graying hair under his cap, with round glasses on his wrinkling face.

"Yuh-You've guh-gotta puh-puh-pick a fluh-flavor, tuh-too," Bill says, holding his own scoop of vanilla. Georgie is currently licking away at a chocolate chip scoop, Bill grabbing extra napkins as a precaution. "And yuh-you can't huh-hit Ruh-Ruh-Richie wuh-with it."

"Way to suck the fun out of it," Robert says. He bends down, arching his heels so that he's level with the container as well as Bill. "Between you and me, I don't trust Richie to not make a cherry related pun."

"Wuh-What do you --" Bill is about to ask but then it clicks. His eyes widen as he stares at Robert and when Richie looks in their direction, he quickly looks away, his cheeks a bright (no pun intended) cherry red. "Oh. Yuh-Yeah."

"Yeah," Robert says, smiling pleasantly even as he continues to stare at the multitude of ice cream flavors with an almost bored expression.

Meanwhile, Ben is trying to avoid getting a scoop, while Beverly is asking him what flavor he would like, well aware of what he was doing. Mrs. Hanscom -- Arlene -- told her about it, and she saw how Ben only had one cookie while Richie had about four. Mike is grabbing napkins as well, holding a Blue Moon ice cream and pointedly ignoring the stares he was receiving from other patrons.

"Ben, there is nothing wrong with getting an ice cream cone," Beverly tells him, patiently.

"It's just... I'm not really that hungry..."

"You're not supposed to be hungry when you eat junk food," Beverly tells him. "And you only had one cookie."

"I know it's just..."

"Who gives a shit what people say? You're just like any other kid getting a scoop of ice cream. Now, pick a flavor or I will pick it myself and it's going to be really awkward if you get a flavor you don't like."

Ben smiles, pointing at the butter pecan.

"Just... just one scoop..."

"Ben..."

"It's just... you know... I could probably work it off if I don't get the ice cream..."

"Ben, don't worry about what other people think of you," Beverly tells him. "Other people are going to call you fat regardless of what you eat. And I would punch every single one of them for doing it."

Ben smiles.

"That's nice."

Beverly smiles too as Robert continues looking through the ice cream flavors, well aware that it was now his turn to be stared at by the shopkeeper with annoyance. Of course, Richie had "picked" his flavors, finally, although that was mostly because most of it was smeared over his glasses and his shirt.

He hears the jingling of the bell as another pair of people come in. He frowns, along with Mike, when he recognizes the voice of Leroy Hanlon as well as the woman he's just walked in with. Rober'ts eyes widen with shock because -- when the _hell_ did _that_ happen? -- and then he goes to stand, though he almost darts up and --

THUD.

He slams the back of his head into the white counter above him, pressing a hand to the back of it as he backs away and stands.

Richie, Stan, and Eddie turn at the sound and all of their eyes widen at the sight of an older man and the Pamela Voorhees lookalike standing by the door. All three turn away in unison, all three mouthing, "No" as they walk the other way.

The clown rubs the back of his head, the pain quickly fading, and he turns to see Pamela standing at the door with Leroy. She's gazing about the shop with a curious expression, a smile on her face. He hasn't seen her smile like that since he promised her, and even showed her, that everyone would know about Jason, the little boy who drowned and not the monster of Crystal Lake, and the camp would never reopen again.

"Jason used to love it when I brought him ice cream from work," Pamela was saying.

"William loved it here when he was little," Leroy tells her. "I mean, not a whole lotta people liked us being here back in the sixties, but the guy's nice."

Leroy even gives the shopkeeper a hearty wave, to which he smiles at him and lifts the scooping spoon up as a way to wave back. Not everyone else is as kindly as the shopkeeper.

"Isn't that the Hanlon fella?" a couple of men in the back whisper.

"Yeah, him and his grandson."

"He's gotta lotta nerve showing his face around here."

"Are yuh-you okay?" Bill asks, concern in his eyes as he touches the back of Robert's head.

His eyes widen at the sight of deep scars in the hairline, well hidden underneath Robert's hair, all four looking like claw marks. It looked as though Vitaly or maybe Gia had slashed down the back of the clown's head, trying to _scalp_ him while they were at it.

"Fine... fine..."

He isn't but...

It was just _odd_.

Not the fact that two people were just getting ice cream together, it was just weird to see Leroy Hanlon and Pamela Voorhees...

... getting ice cream together.

It was like watching an older version of Creighton Duke get ice cream with Jason Voorhees' mother.

That was not an inaccurate analogy.

"That's the father of that dead crackhead, yeah," another voice whispers.

Mike frowns at that, as does Leroy, but the man is not detered, and simply walks up to Robert to order his own ice cream, pulling out his wallet and fully intent on paying for whatever Pamela orders. Robert can tell. Pamela looks at all of the flavors listed on the large white sign before turning towards the counter, a smile on her face until she realizes the clown is right there.

It's a definite "Crap" kind of moment.

"Leroy," the shopkeeper says, smiling. "Haven't seen you in here in... 27 years. Good to see you."

"You too. And, yeah, it's been a while," Leroy says, chuckling. "Uh, I think I'l get the vanilla chocolate swirl," the shopkeeper nods. He turns towards Pamela, "You said chocolate, right?"

Pamela holds her tongue, simply nodding.

Beverly smiles at her, waving happily, despite their unusual meeting. Pamela awkwardly smiles back as Ben and Beverly take their seats, sharing a booth. Richie and Eddie share a booth as well, Stan sitting on a stool at the counter.

Mike is looking between his grandfather and the nice lady from the circus with an expression identical to the clown's. Both were wondering how and when something like this happened, though Mike isn't freaking out like the clown currently is.

"Ruh-Robert," Bill says, shaking the clown's shoulder. "Yuh-You huh-haven't puh-picked yuh-yet and yuh-you're nuh-not the only wuh-one who'll throw the scoop at Ruh-Richie."

"I heard that, Bill!"

"Pick for me," Robert says, walking towards her.

"Alright, he gets a strawberry," the shopkeeper says simply.

Funny enough, in Bill's opinion, the shopkeeper looks like an older version of Stephen King.

Leroy takes notice of him, smiling at him.

"Evening," he says.

"Hi," Bill says, smiling. "Uh, Muh-Mr. Huh-Hanlon, ruh-right? I'm Buh-Buh-Bill."

"Nice to meet you, Bill."

His smile is warm, until his eyes rake over Bill's chin and jaw, spotting the bruises decorating the pale skin. He frowns.

"You alright, son?"

Bill frowns.

"Fuh-Fine... wuh-why?"

"What, uh, what happened here?" he asks, gesturing to his own chin.

He asks only out of curiosity and concern.

Bill swallows.

He speaks, and Leroy knows a lie when it's being told, just as he knows it's _fear_ that he sees in the boy's eyes.

"Nuh-Nothing."

Pamela smiles awkwardly at the clown.

He has a look of confusion on his face.

"It was only a couple of hours," he says. "How did this --?"

She shrugs, her smile becoming less nervous.

"He was looking for Mike," she says. "One thing led to another and... I mean... you told me about Beverly but you never said anything about Mike... I mean, I figured as much after what he told me the other day but..." she shakes her dead. "Your dolls were panicking. Well, Tiffany was trying to keep her husband from doing something he wouldn't regret but you would."

Robert groans. She smiles.

"Yes, that was my reaction, too. I think he was mad I intervened, actually," she says. "I just opened the door before either one could do anything and one thing led to another and then we started talking and then it led to... my Jason... his Bill..." she sighs. "I know, I know about... what that _monster_ did but... other than you, other than your little friends, and Mike, nobody's wanted to talk to me. You saw the Tozier boy walk the other way."

Robert lowers his eyes, unsure of what path this was going to lead to.

"I mean, other than you and Valentine, and Mike, nobody wants to be friends with the Pamela Voorhees or Betsy Palmer lookalike."

Robert tilts his head, curious and confused.

"We're friends?"

Her smile stretches.

"Well, I would like to think so considering that you're my unspoken hero," she says. He looks down. "You'd have done anything to help me. You did what you could. You've done a lot for me in just a few months, merely out of the goodness of your heart, than anyone else has done for me in my whole life. Even more than Steve's parents. You would --" she smiles, watery. "-- you would have given me back my boy if you could."

He looks away, she keeps her smile.

An honest thing.

She clicks her tongue disapprovingly and shakes her head.

"He told me that people were likely to stare but..." Pamela sighs. "Dead _crackheads_. A terrible tragedy and they made it into something it wasn't. Mike tried to tell me he had thicker skin but I know it hurts just the same. They gawk at him like they gawk at me, only for different reasons. Oh, but apparently his time in the army was far worse."

"He hasn't in this town since 1962..." Robert says softly. "Not since..."

She nods.

"Since those monsters burnt down that nightclub and since his wife's cancer, I know," she says. She chuckles. "Can you believe he invited me to Mike's birthday? Oh, he's got a surprise planned now."

Speaking of Mike...

"Your eyes'll fall out of your head you keep staring like that," Leroy tells him, one hand holding a scoop of chocolate ice cream and the other holding a chocolate and vanilla swirl. The latter, he takes a lick from. Mike can't help it, he keeps staring even though he knows it's rude. "Boy, I know I raised you better than that."

"Sorry..." Mike says, meaning it, but... "When'd that happen?" he asks, looking at Pamela, who is still talking to the clown. Not that they can hear their conversation. "I mean, I get it, she's a real nice lady, but... I thought you hated this town."

"Hate's a strong word, Mike," Leroy tells him. "I don't _like_ this town. Mostly I don't like getting stared at and whispered about. I'm 59 years old, Mike. I can get a ice cream with a friend I just made, too, you know."

"No, no, I get that, it's cool, just... weird," Mike says. He smiles. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Leroy just grins.

"I think I did that when I went to get ice cream with a lady," he says, entertained by the look on Mike's face. "Hey, the redhead don't count, son. It ain't you that's gawking at her like she's holding the sun in the palm of her hand."

Mike just laughs.

It's been a while.

For the both of them.

It feels pretty good.

"You staying in town or going home?" Mike asks.

"Eh, I'm already here, walked, actually," Leroy says.

"Really, why? It's so far," Mike says. "And hot."

"That's what the ice cream's for," Leroy tells him, taking another lick. "And I didn't need to get pulled over and asked where my wheels came from."

Mike grimaces.

"Oh."

Bill frowns even as he takes the strawberry ice cream from the shopkeeper.

"Might stop by the meat store," Leroy says, smiling as he stares around the shop. In Mike's eyes, his grandfather doesn't seem to care that he's still receiving dirty looks. It seems that he doesn't care that their whispering about his son, and Mike's father. "Funny, isn't it? 27 years ago was when I stepped into this little place with your dad. 27 years before that was when my daddy moved the family here from New Orleans. Time flies by."

"Why'd you come into town anyway?" Mike asks.

"Looking for you," Leroy says. "Could've left a note or something."

Mike frowns.

"Sorry..."

"Don't be sorry, just don't do it again," Leroy says. "Enough kids go missing in this town, don't need you to be one of them."

"Yes, sir."

Leroy just smiles, warm and paternal. Grandfatherly.

"It's all right. But I got something special planned for you," he says. "More than just the fireworks show they're holding in town. Not every day a boy turns 13, you know."

Mike smiles.

"Speaking of that, you cool with it if I have them --" he gestures to Bill and Georgie, then Richie and Eddie, who are arguing over ice cream flavors while Stan watches, then to Ben and Beverly, and then Robert and Pamela, "-- over? My friends to play football?"

"Knock yourself out," Leroy says, sighing. "Lotta friends you made, none of which you told me about."

"I didn't want to jinx it," Mike admits. "I mean... nobody wants to be friends with... you know..."

"Wuh-We're yuh-your fruh-friends Muh-Mike," Bill says. "Nuh-No muh-matter wuh-what. Luh-Luh-Losers stuh-stick tuh-together."

Mike nods and smiles.

"Losers," Leroy says. "Not bad. A little weird but... not bad." He sighs. "Son, you know if you ever got a problem, you can tell me."

"You say that now but when I tell you, it could change," Mike says.

"Look at it this way, if you're ever afraid of telling me, just think about how much worse it would be to keep it a secret and then imagine me finding out from somebody else," he says, his voice patient. Paternal. "You ain't ever gotta be afraid of nothing, Mike. Not of me, not of what I might say or do, not of a damn thing. Understand?"

"Yeah," Mike says, smiling.

"Pardon my asking, but where y'all headed next?"

"The clubhouse?" Mike asks Bill, who shrugs.

"Just stay safe, Mike," Leroy tells him before looking at Bill, "All of y'all stay safe." Bill nods as Mr. Hanlon walks away. "Be home before dark."

"Yes, sir."

He offers Pamela the ice cream, much to her delight, and Bill watches the introduction to Robert go a lot smoother than it did with his father. He was almost jealous, though he knows that there was no chance of his situation going better. It even ends with a smile and a handshake, though Mr. Hanlon does flinch from the coldness of the clown's touch.

"Yuh-You duh-didn't tuh-tell huh-him about the puh-puh-puh-puppy," Bill says softly, keeping his voice low just in case.

"I want to surprise him," Mike admits.

"That's nuh-nice," Bill says as he heads for Robert, who is still watching Leroy and the woman walk out of the ice cream shop, a bemused look on his face. "Huh-here." He holds out the strawberry ice cream. Robert gives him a smile as he takes it. "Nuh-No thruh-throwing it at Ruh-Richie."

Riche rolls his eyes as he walks by, holding a bit of his shirt with his hands and up to his face so he can lick the ice cream from it.

"That's so disgusting," Eddie complains as he walks out of the shop with Richie.

"Told you it was worth it," Beverly tells Ben as they go to follow, Stan and Georgie and Mike leaving next.

Bill smiles.

"Yuh-You wuh-wanna huh-hang out at the cluh-clubhouse?" Bill asks Robert as they follow the group, the older man holding open the door as Bill walks under his arm. "It's wuh-way cuh-cooler than wuh-one in a truh-tree. Pruh-Probably luh-less duh-dangerous, tuh-too."

"Mm. Are spiders a problem?" Robert asks, knowing they were.

"Nuh-No. Nuh-Not ruh-really. Nuh-Not yuh-yet anyway," Bill says.

The shopkeeper watches the two of them leave, shaking his head slightly, as AC/DC's _Who Made Who_ plays in the background of the shop.

"I muh-mean, it's suh-secret and ruh-really cuh-cool. It's puh-perfect," Bill tells him. He notices that Robert has yet to try the ice cream. "Cuh-Come on, truh-try it."

Robert looks down at the frozen dessert in his hand, seeing a few slices of strawberry in it, all formed into a heart. He glances back at the ice cream shop, his lips curving.

"You sure you don't wanna see me huck it at Richie?"

"Nuh-No. That's fuh-funny buh-but the guh-guy buh-beat yuh-you to it,"Bill says. "It's juh-just ice cruh-cream. It's nuh-not guh-gonna buh-buh-bite back."

 _I'm not so sure about that_ , Robert thinks.

He gives it a kitten lick. At Bill's persisting stare, he rolls his eyes and takes a long swipe of it, leaving behind an indent, unable to not swallow. He doesn't eat a single strawberry, however.

"Satisfied?" he asks.

He waits for Bill to turn away before scrunching his eyes shut and shuddering with disgust, his physical insides churning.

"Vuh-Very," Bill says, smiling obliviously.

Bill looks both ways before he goes to cross the street, stepping out onto the road.

At once, the clown's eyes flash.

Starlight blue to otherworldly orange.

"You --"

HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK.

Bill yells suddenly, nearly screaming, high-pitched and scared shitless, and the sound of a car honking making his heart _pop_ , when he feels powerful arms wrapping around his waist, yanking him from the street, the cone going flying from his hand. His eyes bulge and he kicks his legs out instinctively, grabbing onto the cold hands pressed against his stomach, the arms attached holding his body up and pulling him away from the road.

He hears someone yelling at him, the voice familiar as it insults him and calls him a name. Two names, actually.

"WATCH IT, CLOWN FUCKER! NEXT TIME I WON'T MISS, FAGGOT!"

Belch.

Bill watches with wide eyes as Belch's car speeds away, the older boy obviously flooring and fleeing the scene even as a fat hand sticks out of the driver's window nad flips him off. As though Bill was the one in the wrong here.

His chest heaves as he pants, his pupils blown. He stares with unseeing eyes, shock written all over his little face.

He just almost died...

Belch wouldn't have slowed down...

... and...

Eddie's voice makes his whole body jerk.

"See, this is exactly why you look both fucking ways before crossing the fucking street!"

"Shut up, he did look! That asshole floored it! That was on purpose!" Richie spits right back.

"Dude," Stan starts, his voice cracking as he stares at Bill with wide eyes, Beverly currently glaring down the street and she flips Belch off and Bill can tell by the pissed look on her face that she's tempted to run down the street and chase him down. "Are you okay?"

Mike is staring at him with empathetic eyes.

"You okay?"

"Fuh-Fine..." Bill says quietly, not bothering to shake off the strong grip around his person.

He looks up, his head pressing against a strong chest, to see Robert looking down at him, starlight blue eyes wide with fear.

Fear for _him_.

His heart skips a beat.

And not just because he almost got hit by a car.

On purpose.

"Thanks..." he says breathlessly.

Robert says nothing, and instead holds Bill close as he moves him away from the street.

He glares at anyone who dares to stare for too long, the onlookers quickly averting their eyes as he runs his fingers over Bill's hair. Bill accepts the touch, because it's making his heartbeat slow. Georgie runs up to him, burying his face into Bill's stomach as he hugs his big brother. Bill murmurs, still in shock.

"Holy shit..."

"Well, he couldn't save everybody," Richie says, looking at Bill's fallen ice cream.

"Fuck the fucking ice cream," Eddie spits. "I'll kill that motherfucker."

"Can it, Eds," Robert tells him. He lets go of Bill, though it's obvious he doesn't want to and Bill doesn't want him to either. "Here."

He offers him the strawberry ice cream.

"Nuh-No, it's fuh-fine," Bill says, swallowing heavily. "I'll... I'll just get another."

"You can take it or I can let it melt in Belch's car," Robert tells him. Bill shakes his head. "Or Richie gets it upside his head."

"I'm right fucking here!"

Robert rolls his eyes, his heart beating strangely.

Bill was nearly killed.

And that wouldn't have happened...

... if not for him.

"Here, take it."

Bill sighs as he does, cold fingers brushing over his own, making his stomach jolt funnily.

Eddie groans.

"Gross, you already licked it."

"You sure you're good?" Mike asks. "I mean... he did the same thing to me. Only I didn't have someone to pull me out of the way."

"Yeah... yeah, I'm good..."

Robert stares where Belch drove off, the urge to take on the Pennywise form becoming strong once more. Angry does not even begin to describe how he's currently feeling. Nor does pissed off. He'll kill Belch before Eddie gets the chance. Or the balls. Because Belch nearly ran over his _mate_ \--

\-- no, no, no --

\-- _not_ mate.

He nearly ran over _Bill_.

Robert's _friend_.

He'll kill the prick before this summer is up. That he promises him then and there. This was intentional. All just because he saw Bill with the clown outside of the circus. He'll start off simple, and get him where it _hurts_.

Yet he smiles as he watches Bill pick the strawberries from the ice cream and eat them first.

"Say the word," he tells him quietly. "And his tires are gone."

"I'm guh-good," Bill tells him. "It's a nuh-nice offer buh-but I like yuh-you nuh-not in juh-jail." He bites his lower lip, smiling. "Duh-Do I stuh-still guh-get that juh-joyruh-ride?"

"The fuck? Why does he get the joyride?" Richie asks.

"Maybe another time," Robert promises him.

"Yuh-You're cuh-coming to the puh-puh-parade, aren't yuh-you?" Bill asks suddenly, Mr. Hanlon's words reminding him. "The Fuh-Fourth of Juh-July fuh-fireworks shuh-show."

"Hadn't thought about it," Robert says honestly.

"Yuh-You shuh-should," Bill tells him. "Yuh-You shuh-should cuh-come with us."

"Yeah, dude," Richie adds. "You can keep us from getting run over by the parade."

Robert just smiles.

"Then yes."

Bill smiles, too.

Eddie, of course, can't help but ruin the moment.

"You're not really going to eat that, are you?" Eddie asks, pointing to the spot where the clown had licked it. "I mean, it's already contaminated since he already licked it and it's gross enough that you ate the strawberries --" Bill rolls his eyes before opening them wide, stretching his mouth as far as it would go, sticking his tongue out as far as possible, and he licks the ice cream, on the exact spot that Robert had licked, a childish grin making his mouth stretch even farther and Eddie yells, the same as he did when Richie tossed that garbage bag at him back in the Barrens. "Nooo!"

Eddie gags, getting away from Bill as quickly as possible.

Great, Bill probably had Clown Cooties now.

"That's so fucking gross," he says.

Mike just chuckles, for once unable to wait for his birthday.

And the Fourth of July.

Bill just grins, wide and childish.

Robert smiles at him, amused.

Until Richie, of course, can't help but ruin the moment.

"You do know that by licking that, you just technically kissed him, right?"

It needn't be Robert who threw the scoop at Richie.

Bill did that for him.

And he didn't miss.

Of course, he couldn't help but like the ice cream from his fingers regardless.

"At least it wasn't cherry ice cream."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Yes, the turtle scene was inspired by Moana. I couldn't resist. It was too cute.  
> \- Mike's birthday and the Fourth are the next chapter and I think Stan's birthday and the summer school chapter is the chapter after that.  
> \- Let me know your thoughts in the comments below, sorry for any typos, and see you in the next chapter!


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Chapter twenty-four!  
> \- It took twenty four chapters but I finally got it! I'm thinking the summer school chapter is the next one!  
> \- I went through this one a couple times and I didn't even expect Henry to pop up in here. Just a fair warning, so many of you are going to be so pissed at Georgie in this chapter. Also, thanks to the two people who inspired the Reddie scene in this chapter. I wimped out on the actual smooching. For now anyway ;)  
> \- Believe it or not, at the end of this chapter, there is a Brady Bunch reference. Also, references to Misery and Stand By Me and Creepshow. And the stargazing was inspired by Shrek.  
> \- Time to update some tags!

Robert moves the spoon in his bowl around with a rather vacant expression on his painted face, not finding himself able to join in on the festivities even though he had been the one to bring the balloons. Irony was his mistress, regardless of how cruel she could be, he supposed. Mostly he was just trying to figure out how he was supposed to hide the fact that he wasn't eating the gumbo without giving himself away, lest one of them think there was something wrong with him and he was purposefully avoiding eating as Ben had tried to do.

He sighs, wishing he had brought Jonesy just for the occasion. Of course, he honestly doubted the dog could've handled Leroy's shrimp gumbo. Richie had already nearly burnt his tongue off.

"You know you're supposed to eat it, right?" Richie asks from his spot next to Eddie at the picnic table Leroy and the farmhands had set up.

All of the Losers as well as Leroy and the farmhands, who's names were lost to the clown, were eating the gumbo, Leroy's mother's recipe, as Pamela cut into the cake for Mike. Beverly was already on her second helping and Mike on his fourth. If Robert couldn't taste only the atoms of the food, he would agree that it was quite delicious.

"I'm not hungry," Robert says, smiling.

It's clear that Bill is concerned just the same, but he gives Richie a look that Robert can tell is saying, "Drop it" and Richie shrugs it off as Ben helps himself to a second serving. Leroy was beaming at Mike, something neither the clown nor the boy had seem him do in a very long time. Mike hardly even remembered the last time that his grandfather had genuinely smiled, at anyone in particular. Of course, he also doesn't recall his grandfather ever making gumbo before. He hasn't a clue that Pamela was the one who had inspired the idea after she met Leroy, another thing that made the clown feel both relieved and guilty at the same time.

At the moment, Leroy is remembering all of the times his mother used to serve it to him and his father, just as he's remembering all of the times he made it for his son, William, though everyone always called him Bill, on his birthday, each and every year. Leroy remembers how his Bill used to ignore the cake in favor of the gumbo, as both a boy and as a man. He remembers his son's wedding, where both of them had wanted it and everybody had loved it. Even Mr. Chips had loved it, even if the dumb dog, numerous times, had nearly burnt his tongue on it the same as Richie had.

Stan is sitting next to Mike, jotting down notes in his book as he spots at least three cardinals zooming across the sky. It's entirely peaceful as Pamela takes a seat next to Leroy, a steaming bowl in her hands as she pushes the first slice of the cake towards Mike, who smiles gratefully at her. She is, after all, the one who baked it, as Leroy is the one who made the food.

The bubbling lightness in the air soothes the clown's nerves, especially as Bill leans into him, the boy's head resting against his bicep. It feels quite nice, for both the boy and the clown, but it doesn't go unnoticed by Richie or Eddie, who are both frowning almost suspiciously at the sight. Robert can sense the lingering doubt both of them feel, both boys well aware of the fact that Bill never acted this way around anyone else before. Not even Beverly. The clown tries not to think about that and instead finds comfort in the fact that once more, he was the clown. He had gone with the suit and the makeup, using Mike's birthday as an excuse.

He had not brought a single red balloon for the party, however. Only the pale ones. Pinks and greens, blues and yellows. They sway in the warm breeze and Robert tries not to think of white sheets billowing in the cold, wet wind on a soon to be stormy day on May 28th... He shakes his head, still trying to figure out what to do with the bowl full of gumbo. It'd be rude and insulting, to both Leroy and his mother, to toss it when none of them were looking, he knows.

"Who's that?" one of the farmhands ask suddenly, gesturing with his spoon up the road.

Only a few heads turn, including Robert's.

A small figure is approaching the Hanlon farm, too small to be a man but too big to be a kid about the Losers' ages. Robert squints at it, sensing who it was before anyone else had a chance to guess. Then he frowns, faintly surprised.

"Henry Bowers?"

Mike jerks up, a loud bang echoing as he hits his knee against the table. Leroy frowns at the action as Mike hisses in pain, holding the now throbbing spot. His frown deepens when he notices all of the kids have tensed up, each one looking ready for a fight rather than a party.

"Ain't that Butch's boy?" he asks.

"How many other Henry Bowers do we know?" Richie asks bluntly, taking hold of Eddie's hand underneath the table. As though he thinks he can keep Eddie safe from Henry should he try to start something, even if the boy was severely outnumbered, Belch and Vic nowhere in sight. Or his asshole cousin. "Well, the party was fun while it lasted."

Leroy's eyes harden.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Mike says quickly, giving Richie a look. "He's not going to start nothing."

"The hell was that out of your mouth?" Leroy asks pointedly.

Mike groans.

"He's not going to start _anything_ ," he says.

"You don't know that," Beverly says, wrapping her arms around herself. "Why would he even --?"

"Maybe he just wanted to wish Mike a happy birthday," Robert says knowingly as he stands, his bowl in his hand. Bill reaches for him, grabbing the clown's free hand, a worried look on his face. Robert gives him a reassuring smile. "I'll talk to him."

Henry flinches when the clown approaches, a safe distance from the rest of the group, though none of them stare for too long. Leroy and Mike don't because it's rude and the rest of them because they don't want to get involved and Pamela because it wasn't her business. Robert knows Henry isn't here to start anything, and it took a lot for the boy to show up at all.

"Hi..."

He keeps his head lowered, a rather submissive act, one he's affiliated often with men taller than him. Men like his father.

"Hi."

Henry swallows nervously as he grabs one wrist with the opposite hand.

"I, uh, I heard it was his birthday and..."

"Awful long walk to wish someone a happy birthday, Henry," Robert says, not unkindly. Henry sighs and Robert smiles. "A nice thing for you to do though, don't you think?"

"It wasn't just that..." Henry says, his eyes downcast and guilty.

Robert knows that, just as he knows Henry won't tell him the other reason, though he already knows what it is. He can see and smell the fear radiating off the boy, after all. Henry wants to avoid his father, just for a little while, and maybe find it in himself to apologize to Mike for the incident in the alley. It was part of why he didn't dare as Belch for a ride, and he didn't bring his bike because it would've taken less time than walking did. Henry reaches into his pocket.

A simple piece of white paper with a sloppy scrawl on it and an even sloppier drawing of a birthday cake with a candle on it.

"He'll appreciate it," Robert says, though he doesn't take the handmade birthday card.

"I wasn't sure what else to do," Henry admits. It's taking a lot out of him, the clown knows, if the blown pupils and the discomforted stance are anything to go by. That, and the pungent smell of guilt rolling off of the boy in tidal waves. And the sickly sweet stench of his fear. "Thought about a present but... I didn't know what to get him... and if my old man found out..."

"An apology would suffice," Robert says.

"Maybe I should just go..." Henry says, his fear nearly outweighing his guilt.

Where has Robert seen this before? Or, rather, nearly seen this before?

"Here."

He offers the bowl out ot him, figuring it was better than nothing, and that he could kill two birds with one stone.

"You're here and planning an apology. Leroy will see it from a mile away."

"How do you know?" Henry asks dourly even as he takes the bowl, his stomach rumbling hungrily. He peers into the bowl, a look of confusion flickering across his face. "Soup? With _shrimp_?"

"It's gumbo."

"The fuck is _gumbo_?"

"Just eat it. You can apologize later. I know getting publically humiliated isn't something you're interested in. You weren't the one who called Richie out."

Henry's cheeks turn pink with embarrassment and guilt. He's always been more physical, preferring fists over words. Connor was the one who made a spectacle of Tozier and Kaspbrak, after all, which had promptly backfired on him. Of course, he hadn't been able to not exacerbate things...

"It was mostly Connor but... yeah." Henry sighs. "What if his grandpa gets mad?"

"Leroy isn't like that."

"How do you know?"

"Because he's a better man than your father."

Henry is unsure, but doesn't see any other options. And the gumbo does look and smell really good...

Eyes stray to the pair as Robert sits back down and Henry keeps his distance, the bowl still in the boy's hands, untouched even though he is hungry. Leroy is looking between him and Mike with a thoughtful look on his face as Mike stares meaningfully at Henry, who is keeping his head down. He catches his grandfather's staring before looking pointedly at his own bowl.

Beverly gets up, taking Ben and her slice of chocolate cake with her. She doesn't even give Henry a second glance. Not even when he awkwardly puts the card onto the table in front of Mike. Stan has yet to notice him, even as Eddie and Richie, still holding hands, slide from their spots on the bench and make their getaway. Georgie, on the other hand, scoots over so that there's a spot for Henry. The boy, as Robert and Leroy expected, doesn't take it.

Leroy isn't a dumb man. He knows that Henry has started trouble with Mike, the same as Butch used to do to his Bill when he was still alive. However, seeing Henry here right now, he didn't see the son of Oscar "Butch Bowers", a menace to the town. All he saw was a scared little boy seeking forgiveness. He knows then that the boy is nothing like his old man, try as he may to act like it. He had a hunch, and seeing Henry here now merely proved his theory.

"Have a seat, son," he says warmly, paternally. "Must've been a long walk."

Henry just gives a quick nod and a quicker mumble of thanks as he sits next to Georgie. Mike gives his grandfather a questioning look, to which Leroy responds with a pointed one.

"Thanks for the card," Mike says, not a trace of resentment in his voice.

"Yeah..." Henry says quietly. "Happy... happy birthday."

"Thanks."

Stan looks up, frowning in confusion when he realizes Henry Bowers is sitting across from him.

"Where'd you come from?"

Robert just smiles slightly as Pamela tells Henry he needs a haircut and Bill gives him a look.

The boy does wait to ask his question until Mike has opened all of his presents from his grandfather and the farmhands as well as Pamela, mostly clothes and an old but still ticking watch. Of which, Mike is thankful for. He doesn't even throw away Henry's card, not even when almost everyone gets up from the table, except for Bill and Robert. The former, like the rest of them, full of gumbo and chocolate cake. He gives Robert a pointed look.

"Wuh-Why d-duh-didn't yuh-you eat?"

"I'm not hungry."

It's partially true. He hasn't been hungry since Freddy's latest death and he knows he has a while longer yet. He can't exactly tell Bill that shrimp gumbo and chocolate cake would make him physically sick.

"Y-Y-You guh-gave y-your b-b-b-buh-bowl to H-Huh-Henry. That wuh-wasn't juh-just k-k-kuh-kindness, that w-was an excuse. Wuh-Wasn't it?"

"I'm not purposefully avoiding eating if that's what you're thinking," Robert says knowingly, Bill's cheeks dusting pink but the boy scowls.

"Yuh-You b-b-buh-better nuh-not buh-be avoiding e-e-eating," he says. "It's n-nuh-not guh-good for yuh-you."

"Lots of things aren't good for me, Bill," Robert says. "Besides, we both know you're the one who needs more food in his belly than me."

Red hues hint at the tips of Bill's ears.

"I'm f-fuh-fine," h esays quietly. "T-Tuh-Today's n-nuh-not about m-m-muh-me. It's about M-M-Muh-Mike."

"Mike would want to make sure you were eating properly just the same. Leroy too," Robert says. "I'm fine, Bill. Today is a happy day."

"I'm juh-just s-suh-surprised Huh-Henry sh-showed up," Bill says. "I duh-didn't think huh-he knew w-wuh-where M-M-Muh-Mike luh-lived."

"He knows because of his father," Robert says even as he goes to stand, heading for the Plymouth that he "drove" to the Hanlon farm. Bill quickly follows him, almost like a duckling, or, perhaps more accurately, like a little puppy. "Butch Bowers has been more than unkind to the Hanlons." He opens the door, seeing the little wiggling bundle wrapped in blue blankets.

"Is that the p-p-p-puh-puh --" Bill starts to ask but a lump forms in his throat as Robert reaches into the car, grabbing the bundle from the passenger's seat. Bill grits his teeth, his face becoming red as his hair as he tries to force out the word. The puppy doesn't even flinch as the clown pulls it out of the car, holding it with both hands, and he awaits Bill patiently. The boy just sighs, a defeated look in his eyes. "The d-duh-dog?"

"Yes," Robert says, pulling the blanket back to reveal a little furry face.

Bill watches the tiny thing start to blink its eyes, brown in color, just like Jonesy's and Frankie's, and it stares blearily up at him, whining.

"Isn't it tuh-to e-early?"

"Pamela has been taking care of him and she hangs around here more than she does at Neibolt anymore," Robert says bluntly. "I was surprised, really. Never occurred to me how much she and Leroy had in common. Or that they were even on friendly terms while we were getting ice cream..." he frowns. "What was that place called again? I forget."

"The ice c-c-ream sh-shop? K-K-Kuh-King's Scuh-Scoop."

Robert frowns, blinking.

" _King_? Really?"

"Yuh-Yeah. Wuh-Why?"

"It's just..." Robert begins, unsure, a strange flicker of something unnerved flickering in his core. "Nevermind. Leroy will love him just as much as Mike does."

"Huh-How d-d-do you know that?"

"I'm a clown, Bill. I know what makes people happy. Kids and adults alike," Robert says, smiling again. "Just as I know you had your eyes on that copy of _Clue_ and the _X-Men_ comics back at the circus. And the _Narnia_ books."

Bill looks away.

"Y-Yuh-You suh-saw n-n-nuh-nothing," he says quickly.

Robert just laughs at him, the sound melodic and lovely in Bill's opinion.

"The fuck did Bowers show up for?" Richie asks for the umpteenth time as he and Eddie stare at the sheep in the barn, which are bleating curiously at them. "I mean, if he wanted free food, all he had to do was say so, not act like he gives a shit about Mike's birthday."

"I'm just surprised he didn't start anything," Eddie says as he runs his fingers along the length of one sheep's ear, the little creature bleating merrily at the pleasant feeling. "Even with Mr. Hanlon being there..."

"I wonder what the clown said to him," Richie says aloud, pondering.

"Who cares? He's not going to start anything, not with a bunch of adults running around. Especially Mrs. Voorhees."

"Wouldn't she technically be Miss Voorhees? She's never mentioned a husband."

"I don't know, Richie."

"Well, at least Mike's birthday party has actual cake and balloons," Richie says.

"You liked the gumbo."

"That too, but he could've warned me before I burnt my face off."

"He did. You weren't listening," Eddie says, smiling.

"Shut up."

A moment of peaceful silence.

Of course, Richie has never been one for peaceful silences. Or any sort of silence for that matter. Long ones made him especially uncomfortable, Eddie knew.

"So, does this count as our second date? Because I gotta tell you, having a date at another guy's birthday party sounds really fucked up."

Eddie rolls his eyes as he runs his thumb over the sheep's wool, ignoring the fact that he could hear his mother's voice now, ranting about how dirty the sheep were and how they were going to upset his allergies. About how dirty all farm animals were. He hadn't a doubt that both Mr. Hanlon and the clown kept their animals clean and healthy, one because he had to sell the meat and wasn't an asshole looking to make a quick buck, and the other because he cared deeply for his animals as though they were his friends rather than his pets. But that didn't matter, not to his mother. She'd have an aneurysm if she found out Eddie was anywhere near any animals and just outside of town.

"If you wanted a kiss, all you had to do was say so," Eddie says. "But Mr. Hanlon's barn doesn't seem like the best place to get it."

"Why? Because the sheep are dirty?"

"No, because a woman named Pamela Voorhees who looked like the actual person to a T is right outside with Mr. Hanlon and you remember what happened to the last people that she caught shoving their tongues into each other's mouths in a barn."

Richie grimaces.

"Fair point," he says. "Still. I'm pretty sure Bill is trying for a kiss."

"Shut up," Eddie says pointedly. "Bill just has a crush and the clown isn't a pervert."

"Please, while you were ogling his noisemaker, Bill was staring at his scars with eyes bigger than the moon and got to touch one," Richie says. "I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure that means it's not just some dumb little boy crush."

Eddie's cheeks burn as they turn pink and he scowls.

He ignores the bit about Bill, however.

"It wasn't -- I didn't -- You ogled it, too!"

"It was huge, how could I not?" Richie retorts. "And be that as it may," he adds, drawing out his words with a shit-eating grin on his face, "Everybody knows. You and Bill both have the hots for the guy. I'd be careful if I were you though, Bill might fight you for him."

"Bill and I would not get into a catfight over the clown," Eddie grumbles. "Or anything for that matter and I'm not stupid. Even if we did, he'd win."

"Would you get into a catfight over me?" Richie asks, still grinning.

"No. Both of us would be holding Bill back if there was ever a catfight over anyone at all."

"Right, because he'd be stupid enough to try and stop it." Richie taps his fingers along the fence, looking thoughtful, something that frightened Eddie. "So... the clown or Beverly?"

"What?"

Eddie stares at him, bemused.

"The clown or Beverly? A guy or a girl?"

"Why are you asking?"

"It's an honest question," Richie says, somewhat defensively. "I mean, it's not like I could say _Connor_ or Beverly."

"I wouldn't touch Connor with a sterilized ten foot pole," Eddie spits. "If you wanted to know, all you had to do was ask."

"Alright. Hotdogs or donuts."

Eddie groans.

"Forget I said anything."

Richie just grins.

Eddie lowers his eyes.

"I don't know anyway," the dark-haired boy says, his cheeks feeling quite warm now. "I mean... yeah, the clown's hot... like, really hot... and minus the scars... but like you said, Bill's got the moony eyes for him... and Beverly is pretty, really pretty... it's hard to pick."

"Can't you like both?"

"Well, yeah, but how do you pick if you had to?"

"I think I'd go with the guy," Richie says. "If you're happy, then whatever."

"Yeah, but --"

"If you say being with a guy makes your chances of getting AIDS higher, I will hit you."

Eddie rolls his eyes.

"Not that, fucknut. I think it just depends on the person. You could have the hottest wife ever and she'd be a total bitch. Or you could be with someone not as pretty, guy or girl, and they'd be the sweetest person ever."

"Please, you and I both know you're going to end up marrying a woman just like your mom," Richie says, now frowning. He looks away, almost pouting. "But so what? Guy or girl, the important thing is your happiness and your faithfulness, right?"

"Sure. The most important thing is to be faithful, and in Henry's case, grateful," Eddie says. "But are you gay or do you like both or you don't know yet? And is this the real reason you brought me into the barn? So you could ask privately?"

"I dunno," Richie says. "And, yeah, I figured if I was going to ask you someplace private, it'd definitely Mike's grandpa's barn full of sheep while Pamela Voorhees is outside." Eddie rolls his eyes. "Nah. Our initials are carved into the kissing bridge, so I've got one up on your little clown crush." Eddie scowls and Richie grins as he grabs Eddie's hand, taking him up the ladder and into the loft in the barn. He asks his next question so hopefully, his eyes shining with it, "Maybe even two up?"

"PG-13 only. Keep your hands where I can see them.. And this never happened."

"Got it. I'm way out of your league anyway, even if we do sometimes play in the same ballpark."

"... I hate you."

"Love you too, Eddie Bear."

The sheep bleat with amusement, all of them herding under the loft as though they can cop a peek, as the two disappear into the loft.

"Why'd you let him stay?"

"The boy was hungry."

"That's it?"

Mike stares at his grandfather with a look of confusion as the rest of the group, Stan, Ben, Beverly, and the farmhands, start to pick teams for football. Bowers is awkwardly standing off to the side with Georgie, the younger boy currently trying to convince him to play, Pamela having gone into the house with a blanketed bundle after the clown had given it to her. His grandfather sighs.

"That's not it, Mike. That boy wouldn't have shown up if he didn't have something to say to you," he says. "I'm old, not senile. I've known Butch Bowers a long time, son. Longer than you've known Henry. He hated your father for no good reason just because he could. The man's full of hate and has taught his son how to do nothing else but that. Yet despite this, he showed up here, but not to start something. Why?"

"I don't know," Mike says. "How am I supposed to know?"

"He did something, to you, that he shouldn't have, that he's now regretting. Something I'm sure you just so happened to forget about so you didn't have to tell me," Leroy says, his tone disapproving. "I got a call from the meat store, Mike. The boy nearly ran you down, did he not?"

"Not him. The other one," Mike says, frowning. "He's the one who threw his cigarette at me and told me to get out of his town. I'm sure it was his idea to try and run me over."

Leroy sighs at that.

"Maybe it was, but he still came here, and if I'm right, it's to make amends."

"He could have killed me," Mike says angrily.

"Yes, he could have, and for that, I'll never forget it. And you shouldn't either," Leroy tells him. "But out of all of them boys, he came forward and if anything, he's just trying to find a way to say he's sorry without this somehow getting back to his dad. I'm not saying forget about what he's done, I'm saying forgive."

"How? Would dad have forgiven Butch Bowers?"

"Yes," Leroy says. "Your dad was not a violent man. He didn't have a hateful bone in his body, Mike. He had to pull a gun on Bowers years ago, long before you were even born, just to get him off the property, but that was it. Long ago, Butch Bowers killed our chickens and was forced to pay for it. He made sure Bill knew he was mad about it. But he still forgave him, he just never forgot. I still haven't myself." He sighs. "Trust's a difficult thing, Mike. Like treading ice, it's dangerous. Once you've got it, it's easy to lose it, and it's harder to get it back the second time around. Just remember, you're not the one trying to earn it. You're the one giving it."

Mike sighs as he stares at Henry, who looks beyond miserable even as Georgie smiles encouragingly up at him.

"I don't know how," Mike admits.

"And that's not a bad thing," Leroy tells him. "You don't know how to forgive, just as he doesn't know how to ask for it. Actions speak louder than words, son. He's here now, and you know as well as I do that he's just looking for someone to not treat him like he's something lower than dirt."

Mike continues to stare at Henry.

He approaches and even though Henry stiffens, as though expecting Mike to suddenly reel his fist back and punch him in the face as Beverly did to Connor, he simply asks him a question as he offers out the football, making his grandfather smile proudly.

"Wanna play?"

"Wuh-Wuh-What huh-happened to E-E-E-Eddie and R-Ruh-Richie?"

"They're in the barn," Robert says.

Bill frowns with confusion.

"It's more private there," Robert points out.

Realization hits.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Silence, though it isn't at all awkward.

"You didn't think it was all just for show, did you?" Robert asks. "A big moment Eddie had in the arcade. He let his passionate soul fly free for the first time. Something like that doesn't just go away. Try as his mother may to stop it."

"I d-d-duh-didn't r-ruh-really think about it," Bill admits. "Guh-Good f-fuh-for them."

"Yeah."

Robert watches with him as the clouds drift on by through the sky, some of them shaped strangely, almost bizarrely, though they all resembled white cotton candy in his mind. The sun was hidden behind a couple of them, so that it was just bright enough that the sky was still a pleasant, powdery blue, but it wasn't so bright that it would burn someone's eyes. Both of them are lying on the hood of the Plymouth Fury, a comfortable air settling around them as they lie together, side by side, arms just shy of brushing against each other.

"Huh-Huh-Have y-yuh-you ever d-d-duh-done that?" Bill asks suddenly, his cheeks aflame. Robert frowns at the question, and the sudden sweet aroma of shyness that permeates the air. He senses Bill's worry at the question, as though Robert will think him weird or nosy. "K-Kuh-Kissed suh-somebody?"

"how do you know they're just kissing?" Robert asks, though he knows that's the case.

"E-E-Eddie m-m-muh-most l-luh-likely duh-doesn't l-luh-like the f-fuh-fact that his and R-Ruh-Richie's fur-first k-kuh-kisses are in M-M-Muh-Mr. Huh-Hanlon's b-buh-barn of all p-p-pluh-places," Bill says knowingly. "And b-b-because of M-Mrs. V-Vuh-Voorhees. There's nuh-no wuh-way he'd luh-let it guh-go fur-further than that."

"You know your friends well," Robert says, smiling with amusement. "But why are you asking me?"

Bill swallows nervously, his belly twisting into nervous, jittery knots.

"I wuh-was juh-just c-c-curious."

Robert's lips quirk to the side as he thinks. In this life, no he has not. He has always hunted, ate, and slept. Rinse and repeat. Every 27 years. In that old life, yes. Numerous times. In this one...

He grimaces as he recalls how she has forced her tongue into his mouth...

"Yes."

Bill scoffs, smiling despite the sting of jealousy he feels despite the fact that it would make sense as Robert was older than he was. And was kind and generous.

And hot.

"Ruh-Really? How many times?"

"Only once. Why?"

"Wuh-Well..." Bill clears his throat, not making eye contact, "... y-yuh-you know."

"What do I know?" Robert asks, smiling a knowing smile.

Bob Gray was handsome, yes. At least, most people found him handsome with the clown makeup and suit on. Strange, yes, but it was the simple truth. Without his make up and such, nobody wanted to be friends with Bob Gray except for the other circus "Freaks" but as the clown? Everyone loved him. Including Mrs. Kersh's mother. At least for a little while. Here and now, Robert wasn't as oblivious as everyone seemed to think.

Of course, it wasn't about looks. They were merely physical things, and Robert didn't see things the way humans did. People like this version of himself because he was handsome, yes, even if his eyes had retained that same distorted gaze about them. He didn't care for those things, however, as he saw how people could shine above all. Those who were keener than others. He didn't care for physical attributes. Not really.

And there was only one who he would ever let near his still beating heart anyhow. And it wasn't the monster locked up in the dream world.

"You know," Bill says, his lower lip jutting out into a boyish pout as he realizes that Robert is purposefully teasing him. His curiosity is piqued, however. "Are there any g-guh-girls in this t-tuh-town that huh-have cuh-caught y-your eye?"

"No," Robert says. "Most of the women in this town are bitches anyway."

"Huh-Have y-yuh-you ever huh-had a g-guh-girlfriend b-buh-before?"

"No, and I don't plan on it either."

"Wuh-Why nuh-not?"

"Not interested," Robert says simply.

"Oh..." Bill says, biting his lower lip as his eyes widen, a thoughtful look in their depths as he awkwardly shifts his legs. "Wuh-What about guh-guys?"

Robert lowers his eyes.

"I have one in mind, but it won't happen," he says.

"Oh."

Bill doesn't know what to say, other than --

"Suh-So, y-yuh-you are g-guh-gay."

"In a sense, yes," Robert says, rather amused now.

Morbidly so.

Genders were inapplicable. Mostly, anyway. He preferred the physical form that of a human male anyhow. The clown part was just an added bonus, really. As genders were unimportant, so were sexual orientations. At least for Its' kind. A mate was a mate.

"That's n-n-nuh-nice," Bill says, smiling that same dorky smile as his eyes _shine_ , though the clown is oblivious to it. Just as he's oblivious to the faint trace of envy Bill feels stirring in his belly, even if Robert said that the "guy" wasn't going to happen. Bill looks back up at the sky, knowing he was being childish and probably stupid, but he couldn't help the feeling of _elation_ that overtook him at that moment, like stars exploding inside of his belly. He smiles at a cloud he sees. He points and says; "That wuh-one l-luh-looks like a t-tuh-turtle."

Robert frowns as he looks where Bill is pointing, seeing the fins and the neck and even the head and the distinct shape of a turtle's shell.

"I see it," he says. He looks away, looking for another cloud. He points. "That one looks like a witch on a broomstick."

Bill looks, grinning at the sight.

"It does," he says happily. "I r-ruh-remember d-duh-doing this wuh-with Stuh-Stan and E-E-Eddie wuh-when w-w-we were y-younger. Until Ruh-Richie suh-said wuh-one l-luh-looked like a d-d-duh-dick and it p-p-puh-put Eddie off."

Robert snorts with laughter.

Bill beams. He points at the next funny shaped cloud he sees.

"That wuh-one l-luh-looks l-luh-like a b-b-baby ruh-rabbit," he says. "Suh-See the f-fluh-fluffy t-tuh-tail?"

Robert spots it, a smile crossing his lips, until he spots the cloud right behind the rabbit shaped one, though he doesn't dare point it out to Bill, who is oblivious to it.

It resembles a wolf, its shoulders hunched, clearly preparing to lunge.

To hunt.

And to kill.

Bill shifts on the car, still smiling sweetly.

"Wuh-Where'd yuh-you guh-get the cuh-car, b-b-by the wuh-way?"

"Junkyard," Robert says truthfully. "Patched it up. The guy was eager to get rid of it. Why? You want that joyride now?"

"M-Muh-maybe l-luh-later," Bill says. "G-Guh-Georgie wuh-wants to guh-go to J-Juh-Johnny's huh-house fuh-for the nuh-night and I'm g-guh-guessing E-Eddie's guh-going to d-ditch to stay at R-R-Ruh-Richie's." He pauses, unsure. "Are yuh-ou s-serious about it?"

"As a heart attack," Robert says. "I'd like to teach you how to drive. It's a major part of a young boy's life, after all."

"Yuh-Yeah b-buh-but aren't duh-dad's suh-supposed to t-tuh-teach their k-kuh-kids that stuff?" Bill asks, though he has no intention of asking his dad to teach him anything ever again. "It's j-juh-just that it's suh-such a n-n-nuh-nice cuh-car. I'd huh-hate to ruh-wreck it."

"It'll be fine. It's just a car," Robert says. "I'd like to teach you though, if you'll let me. Your dad wouldn't have to know."

Bill grins.

"You're a ruh-ruleb-breaker aren't y-yuh-you?"

"What's life without just a litlte bit of a risk?" Robert says. "Besides, you're safer with me than you are with anyone else."

"Fuh-Fair p-puh-point. Buh-But I guh-get to t-tuh-teach y-yuh-you huh-how to r-ruh-ride a b-b-b-buh-bike."

"You're not going to let me live that one down are you?"

"Not until you l-l-luh-learn how to r-ruh-ride it."

"You're a pain in the ass, you know that?" Robert asks, smiling.

"Yuh-Yeah..." Bill says, "... b-b-but I'm yuh-your p-puh-pain the ass," he says, smiling boyishly. "Ruh-Right?"

"Of course you are," Robert says. "If you were anybody else, I wouldn't be here right now."

Bill bites his lip, hard, to try and suppress the bubbly feeling that erupts in his belly. Even as he slides his hand closer to the clown's, he tries to hold back that feeling, even though he's really hoping Robert will take his hand and hold it.

"Wuh-What w-wuh-was that suh-song?" he asks. "B-Buh-back at B-Buh-Ben's?"

"It was my own."

"Y-You suh-said that buh-but w-w-what l-luh-language wuh-was it?"

"My own."

"Wuh-One you m-muh-made up y-yourself or are yuh-you fruh-from another c-c-country?"

"I'm not from Derry, Maine, you know that," Robert says, smiling. "Come on, guess."

Bill stares, thinking.

"R-Ruh-Russian?"

"No."

Robert's smile stretches as Bill lists off every language he can think of, each one far more incorrect than the last.

"G-German."

"Nope."

"Japanese."

"Are you even trying?"

That one earns him a cute little pout.

He starts listing off every language that pops into his head, not that he speaks any of them, and each one is incorrect.

"Wuh-Well, it wuh-wasn't Spuh-Spanish."

Bill only knows that, of course, because he failed Spanish last year. Horribly.

"You know it wasn't Spanish but you can't figure out what language it was," Robert says teasingly, though he knows Bill could never even dream of guessing what it was. It wasn't a language of the Earth, after all. A language far older than the planet itself. "I'll give you a hint; it's out of this world."

"Wuh-What's that supposed to m-m-muh-mean?"

"You'll figure it out. Eventually. Or not, doesn't matter to me," Robert says, laughing at the annoyance that flickers across Bill's face.

"Yuh-You're a duh-dick."

"Yeah, but I'm your dick, right?"

Bill pouts.

"Yes."

Bill looks back up at the sky before glancing around the Hanlon farm, seeing that nobody else was outside, not even Henry anymore. Robert knows that Eddie and Richie are sharing beyond shy kisses in the barn, hands barely exploring at all, just as he knows Pamela is making lemonade for the rest of them, while Leroy is preparing a baby bottle for the puppy, and Georgie and Mike are the only ones bothering to speak to Henry. Of course, Mike doesn't know yet that Robert has dropped the puppy off, or that Leroy has him. Robert smirks smugly, well aware that Mike wasn't going to be getting any time with the puppy while Leroy had it. And Stan was off in the wooded area near the house watching the birds.

Bill inches closer to the clown.

"What're you doing?" he asks, confused as Bill rests the back of his head on his chest.

Not that he's complaining, however.

"Truh-Trying to guh-get c-cuh-comfortable," Bill says, somewhat truthfully. His cheeks are redder than Hell, feeling hotter than, but he doesn't care. "You're cold and it's huh-hot out."

"Pamela's making lemonade."

"I duh-don't wuh-want it," Bill says, though he wonders how Robert could know that when Pamela isn't even outside and said nothing about making lemonade to either of them. "Yuh-You're kuh-kind of weird, yuh-you know that?"

"You're the one laying on me but I'm the weird one?" Robert asks, his tone pleasant as he wraps his arm around Bill's smaller person, his arm around Bill's shoulders and his fingers just shy of touching Bill's waist, though he purposefully avoids Bill's hip where he had slashed him that night. "You've got a funny sense of what's weird and what isn't."

Of course, he neglects to inform Bill that he's quite comfortable right now. Basking in the sunlight as he takes in Bill's naturally sweet scent, feeling almost like a relaxing cat. Fleshy and warm, the crisp smell of paper, notebooks, and the strong one of ink, pens, and lead, pencils, permeating the air. It makes Bill's present in the trunk all the more sweeter, the clown thinks, as Bill slides further up onto his chest, now resting on his side, so that his ear is atop of the clown's breast. His auburn hair starts to tickle the clown's chin, and it takes every ounce ofw illpower not to run his fingers through it.

Gloves or not.

"Yuh-Yeah, wuh-well..." Bill says, unable to think of a response even as he scoots closer to Robert, relishing in the sweet smells rolling off the older man in waves. The fluffy, sugary scents of cotton candy, the crispy, saltiness of peanuts, the reek of hotdogs, mustards and ketchup, the buttery, salty goodness of popcorn, and --

He stops, sniffling almost curiously. Almost like a dog smelling something new for the first time, though Bill quickly remembers going to the fair before, when he was a little kid, trying a new treat his mom was handing to him on a paper plate.

Bill smiles, childish and joyous, as he glances up at the clown, who has his eyes closed, also clearly enjoying the warm, sunny day.

He smells it.

Cinnamon...

"Yuh-You b-buh-been m-muh-making elephant ears?" he asks, grinning childishly as he keeps his head on the clown's chest, looking down at his hands, uncaring of who would walk by and see the strange seen. Even Mr. Hanlon.

Robert frowns, but doesn't open his eyes. He's confused at the question.

"No, why?"

Natural scents are a funny thing, he thinks. It's how prey and predator are distinguished, most often, and some smells are sweeter than others, more pleasant to the sense. With him, or It, the scents are associated with emotions as well as orientation between prey and predator. The raw, powerful, almost earthy scent of a predator, and the scents affiliated with their emotions.

Underneath the sweeter smells of the circus, he knows, is stench. Sewer stink and the rot of flesh. The metallic, coppery reek of blood and the pungent, almost moldy smell of death and decay. However, those were the scents of the beast inside of him.

The monster of Derry's dark heart.

As he was no longer that monster, or no longer thought himself as a monster, he no longer smelled like that. Of course, he doesn't understand why Bill would be smelling elephant ears...

"I smuh-smell c-cinnamon," Bill says, still smiling as he takes hold of Robert's other hand, the one not currently resting on his side, above his injured hip. "it's nuh-nice."

Robert opens his eyes, though he lowers them, and if he were human, his face would be warm with shyness if not the barest trace of shame.

It was but a beast marking its territory, though even the beast had the sense of knowing what it was doign was surely wrong. On so many levels.

 _Better than perfume_ , Robert thinks darkly as he holds bill close and lets the boy play with his gloved fingers.

"I like hanging with you," Bill tells him quietly, not even stuttering. "We should do it more often."

"Well, we do have all day, don't we? At least until four."

Bill smiles, a rather mischievous thing even though he knows he'll surely regret it later. He looks up at Robert, his eyes shining with that same tricky little glint. One the clown knows shines the brightest on someone who knows they're going to do something dangerous, but doesn't give a shit. At least not at the moment he doesn't.

"Or..."

Robert raises an eyebrow at how Bill draws out that word, being painfully reminded of himself, though Bill's intentions were far less sinister than his had been back then.

"We could... t-tuh-take a l-luh-little luh-longer than f-fuh-four," Bill says. "He's going to b-b-buh-be p-p-p-puh-pissed off either wuh-way."

"A little dangerous, don't you think?" Robert says, knowing that Bill's shoulder was still bruised.

Bill just shrugs.

"What's l-luh-life wuh-without a little bit of a ruh-risk?" Bill asks, repeating the clown's earlier words. "It's summer," bill says, the words further reminding the clown of painful memories. "I'm suh-supposed to b-b-buh-be huh-having f-fuh-fun w-wuh-with m-muh-my freinds. Nuh-Not wuh-worrying about s-stupid curfews and huh-him acting l-luh-like a duh-dick. Besides, yuh-you'll protect me."

"That I will," Robert tells him. His eyes are wide, sincere. "Without question."

Bill stares up at him, his heart beating funnily as his insides seemingly do somersaults. Funnily enough, it reminds him of when Robert had somersaulted into the circus tent to perform on the hoops. He swallows as he turns his body a little further, sliding himself so that he's lying on top of the clown, his legs intertwined with Robert's, though his own are much shorter. He presses his chest against the clown's, his eyes level with Robert's.

A gloved hand rests then on his lower back now as the other hand moves to the back of his neck, making him shiver pleasantly. There's a thrum of something, almost like an electrical spark, in the air. Bill trembles as he feels those long fingers running along the base of his skull, threading through his hair as he leans his face closer and closer to Robert's, both of his hands pressed against a solid chest.

It reminds him of the play with Beverly, in a way. They had been under a spotlight, countless eyes watching them from afar as well as on the stage. Neither one of them had really wanted to be in the stupid play but both had been forced into it. He remembers how close her face had gotten to his, though he had moved away just as quickly as he had approached, effectively pissing off the theatre teacher but he didn't give as hit back then. Richie had been snickering in the background at him.

This was so very different.

Beverly's eyes were blue, too, but not _this_ blue.

Not like two twinkling stars in the dark and vast expanse that was outerspace.

It was... like Robert said... out of this world...

His breath turns shaky as Robert stares at him with those wide, starlight blue eyes. It was unnerving, how wide and how blue they were, and yet both of them lean closer...

... and closer...

Robert whispers, caught like a fly in a spider's web in the moment;

"Are you afraid?"

Bill whispers back, but another fly in a deadly spider's web;

"No."

Bill feels and hears a little sound escaping past his lips, sharp and high in pitch, as his lips start to part, those red painted ones coming so very close...

Robert's hand holds the back of his head, cradling it even, the red painted tip of his nose brushing along the crease of Bill's, cold breath ghosting over Bill's flesh, tickling his neck.

 _He thrusts his fists against the posts_...

Bill's fingers dig into the starched ruff and the fitted doublet, as though holding on for dear life because he thinks that if he lets go, he might just fall off the face of the earth and into the abyss...

 _And still insists he sees the ghosts_...

Red painted lips touch the corner of Bill's mouth, and --

"What're you doing?"

Bill jumps, startled, suddenly beginning to flail around as though he's been electrocuted, the boy nearly falling off the hood of the car had Robert not grabbed a hold of him, a white boot skidding across the red hood as he pulls Bill close to him lest the boy fall of the side of the car and hurt himself. He closes his eyes, a beyond pissed off and beyond dangerously lethal red taking over his irises.

A raw --

An absolutely primal --

Unearthly --

Otherworldly --

Monstrous --

 _Rage_.

Bill pants for breath, his heart racing in his chest as he stares, wide-eyed and petrified, if not also pissed, at Georgie, who is blinking curiously at them, unaware of the sight he came across. He looks between them, unsure of what they were doing or why they were so close to each other. He's seen people close like this before, even kissing as they were about to do. He remembers seeing his parents do it before, as well as his friends' parents, and other people's parents, but he's never seen Bill and Robert do it.

Did that mean the two of them were together?

Robert swallows as he forces his eyes to return to that starlight blue, the beast inside of him bellowing and roaring, feeling as though chains were holding it back, keeping it locked inside of a cage, lest it lash out and _destroy_. His true form may be a monstrous, eldritch form of something orange, but goddamn if he didn't feel like a green beast of envy and a red one of wrath right now.

He hadn't even...

It was so difficult to keep his emotions at bay...

The beast inside of him only wanting to...

He hadn't meant for things to escalate, or in this case, nearly escalate, as they did... but... it was...

It was surely wrong on so many levels, but it had felt so right.

A beast claiming its mate...

"Chuh-Checkers, G-Guh-Georgie," Bill says quickly, his face red with embarrassment as he quickly looks around, making sure nobody else was around to see. He couldn't see anyone and prays to whatever God there was that nobody else had spotted them. "Wuh-We're pluh-playing checkers."

"What kind of checkers? You don't even have a board."

Naivety at its finest, Robert thinks.

A pure, childish innocence unlike any other.

And goddamn if it didn't piss him off so profoundly.

Yet above that green beast of envy and that red monster of wrath, he felt shame.

What had he nearly done?

Bill was --

\-- _not_ his mate.

 _Not his mate_.

 _Not his mate_.

 _Not his mate_.

He tried to keep repeating it to himself, perhaps to the point that he could delude himself into believing it to be true, but every beast inside of him snarled at him, proving the fact that it simply wasn't...

... meant to be.

He was too dangerous for Bill, or any of the Losers for that matter, to be around.

"The kind that you don't interrupt," Bill says, a defeated look on his face as he pulls away from Robert.

The clown has to bite his own tongue, sinking razor sharp teeth into the fleshy appendage, to keep the pitiful whine from escaping.

Georgie has the decency to frown apologetically.

"Sorry..."

"It's okay," Bill whispers as he slides off the hood of the car.

"Mrs. Voorhees made lemonade," Georgie says, still apologetic at interrupting their "checkers".

"Okay..." Bill says quietly, his heart and stomach twisting with embarrassment. "Wuh-W-Wuh-We, uh..." he glances at Robert, who is looking down at his own hands with a strange look on his face, "... we'll b-b-buh-be a m-minute, Guh-Georgie."

Georgie looks between the two of them."

"I won't tell," he promises, even his childish mind understanding that this was something he wasn't supposed to tell anyone about.

With that, he heads back for the house.

Bill doesn't look at Robert, too busy squirming with shyness and awkwardness unlike any other. His lower lip quivers as his eyes sting and water. He isn't mad at Georgie. Or, at the very least, he doesn't _want_ to be mad at him but...

 _Goddammit_.

They had almost kissed...

He liked the clown, sure...

Oh, who the fuck was he kidding?

He really liked the bastard.

More than the stupid and childish, "like, like" kind of thing.

"I, uh, I'm suh-sorry," Bill says in a whisper.

"The fuck are you sorry for?" Robert says. "I'm the one who..."

Bill squirms, his insides seemingly twisting themselves into knots.

"It wuh-was n-nuh-nice," Bill says softly. "Or... wuh-would huh-have b-b-buh-been..."

Silence.

He glances back at Robert, who looks beyond miserable.

Almost like a dog that had been denied something it really wanted.

Was Robert so upset because they had been interrupted, or was he so upset because he was feeling guilty about nearly kissing a boy that was well below his age range and still a minor? Bill wasn't sure.

Robert twitches, guiltily, and Bill has only an inkling as to why.

"It... uh... it wasn't that b-b-buh-bad... wuh-was it?"

Robert twitches again, fingers clenching and unclenching, obsidian claws forming on his toes inside of his boots, threatening to break free. His eyes water and sting, a humanlike thing, as his painted lips curve into a Sad Clown's frown.

"I'm so sorry, Bill."

Bill frowns, his eyes widening as he approaches.

"No, no, no, no, no, don't be." He takes Robert's gloved hand into his own. "It... it wuh-wasn't... I l-luh-liked it..."

Robert fidgest as Bill holds onto his hand with both of his own.

"I duh-don't wuh-want it to m-m-muh-make things w-wuh-weird... it wuh-won't... wuh-will it?"

"I don't know..."

"I don't want it to," Bill murmurs miserably, not even stuttering. "I... I don't..."

 _I don't regret it_ , Bill thinks.

And why the hell should he?

It was weird, sure, beyond weird, without a doubt, but who fucking cared? If anyone in this town really did give a shit, they would concern themselves with the actual possibility of a thirteen-year-old girl or a thirteen-year-old boy who were supposedly screwing anyone within a five mile radius. Mrs. Corcoran had thrown that into Bill's face, the rumors about him and the clown. Ignoring what had nearly just happened, Bill thought her a bitch, because if any of the adults in this town really cared, they'd worry more about the chances of actual perverts, like Mr. Keene, running around in Derry than town sluts.

Bill didn't care about the rumors. He never had and he never would. He just didn't want to lose his friendship with Robert.

"I don't regret it," Robert tells him softly. "It was... very nice."

"yuh-Yeah," Bill says, so softly.

"I... I just don't want to see you get hurt..."

"You wouldn't hurt me," Bill says without a stutter.

 _Not on purpose_ , Robert thinks sadly.

"I... I really liked it..." Bill admits. "I m-m-muh-mean... nuh-nothing actually... huh-happened... buh-but... it was nice. Even if it didn't actually happen."

"I don't want to hurt you..."

"You're wuh-one of the f-fuh-few p-puh-people in this town who huh-hasn't," Bill says quietly, frowning. "I... you're n-nuh-not suh-some c-creep. If yuh-you w-wuh-were yuh-you wuh-would've snuh-snatched G-Guh-Georgie or t-tuh-took advantage of B-B-Buh-Beverly."

Robert blinks, his eyes widening with shock.

"How did you --"

"She told me," Bill says. "And I think I'm the only wuh-one she t-tuh-told. Y-You ruh-ran wuh-when she offered h-huh-herself t-to y-you, b-buh-but you also cuh-covered huh-her with a sh-sheet."

"I could still be a pervert for little boys, couldn't I?" Robert spits, disgusted at the mere idea of it. "Maybe she just wasn't my type. Maybe she was the wrong redhead."

Bill shakes his head.

"That's nuh-not true," he says. "Y-Yuh-You're nuh-not suh-some p-p-puh-pervert. I know you aren't."

'How could you possibly know that?" Robert asks, desperation in his eyes. The rational part of him wants Bill to run, to run as fast and as far as his legs will carry him, or even hop onto Silver and peddle as fast as he could (Robert knew Silver was faster than him, faster than the devil himself), while another part of him wants to hold Bill in his arms, keep him safe from the horrors of the world, and another part of him wanted to claim Bill as his own. "This could just be a ploy, you know?"

"But it isn't," Bill says, frowning. He doesn't let go of Rober'ts hand. "I duh-don't huh-have to know suh-so m-muh-many things about yuh-you to just know something... you know?"

Robert is silent.

"Yuh-You're nuh-not suh-some creepy fuh-fucker. Yuh-You're nuh-not juh-just p-pretending to b-buh-be our f-fruh-friend. You _are_ our friend. And... it was nice. It would have been a nice kiss..."

"I don't want to..." Robert says softly, his eyes wide with guilt that Bill can tell is real. The clown thinks of a beautiful red-haired woman, a famous actress who stars mostly in horror films based on her husband's books, "... take from you."

"Yuh-You aren't," Bill says, frowning.

Robert scoffs, smiling a humorless, bitter smile.

"You asked me before if there were any girls I had my eye on," Robert says. "I didn't even bother to ask you."

"Wuh-Well... nuh-no, buh-but..."

"You're a young boy, you should be focusing on girls this time of year. Not..." he lowers his eyes, unable to maintain eye contact. He just _can't_. "I've really gone and messed things up, haven't I?"

"No, no, no, no, you haven't," Bill says quickly. "I... you're still my f-f-friend," he tells him. Yet the word tastes bitter on his tongue, foul and almost like something poisonous in his mouth. Some childish part of him wants something more than friendship, but the rational part of his brain knows it's not possible. At least, not for another five years it isn't. "I duh-don't wuh-want this to ch-change anything... and I duh-don't w-wuh-want you to b-b-bluh-blame yuh-yourself..."

Robert is silent.

The tension is so thick, he thinks that not even the sharpest of knives could pierce it. Not even Freddy's blades.

"I wanted it," Bill says, his voice an octave short of whiny. "And I'm fuh-fucking m-m-muh-mad."

Mad being the delicate term for pissed off.

"If Guh-Georgie huh-hadn't interrupted..."

He's not mad at Georgie, not really, just the fact that they were interrupted. At all. If it had been Richie, or anyone else, it might've escalated into something worse. Either Richie teasing him about it or actually freaking the fuck out about the possibility of Robert being... not so good... an actual creep... but Bill knew better. This wasn't just some ploy, some act, it wasn't Robert pretending to be upset that he nearly kissed Bill, and it wasn't just his upset at getting caught either. He honestly was upset at himself, Bill could just tell.

"I'm nuh-not stupid," Bill says, his eyes welling up with tears. "I'm yuh-young b-buh-but nuh-not stupid. I know what I want."

"You're fucking thirteen," Robert says through gritted teeth. "You hardly know what you want when it comes to girls. You should be interested in girls."

"I duh-don't... I don't wuh-want to b-buh-be interested in g-g-guh-girls..." Bill says quietly.

That feels like a knife being plunged into his physical form's stomach, piercing him into his very core. It feels like being stabbed by Mike, all over again. The green and red beasts dwelling inside of him shouldn't feel so overjoyed at those words...

"I... I think I'm gonna go for a walk..."

He jumps off the hood of the car, turning his back to Bill, who simply holds his hand all the more tightly.

"Robert..."

Bill's voice is so soft, so small, it betrays how he tries to hide his insecurities.

"Don't go."

He sighs as he turns his back towards Bill, unsure.

He wants to ask, "What about Audra?", though Bill would have no clue who he's talking about and it's not as though he can explain, but the name sends a sharp surge of hatred coursing through his veins, the beast of envy's roar nothing short of a thunderous, monstrous sound. He has yet to meet her, in this life, and he doubts now that he ever will, and that frightens him. Because if he doesn't know how the future plays out, how can he stop himself from hurting Bill and the Losers' Club more than he already has?

Twice now.

In that old life, and at this very moment.

"I'm so sorry, Bill," Robert tells him sadly as Bill walks up to him, the boy hiding his face in the clown's sternum, his forehead just touching Robert's chest.

He was that short in comparison.

Puny, even.

"Don't be," Bill says into his stomach. "I _liked_ it. I like _you_. Even if we are 7 years apart."

 _I think you mean some odd 20 billion years apart_ , Robert thinks morosely.

"I d-duh-don't w-w-want this to b-buh-be awkward but I d-d-don't w-wuh-want to juh-just f-fuh-forget it," Bill mumbles into his stomach even as Robert hesitantly, very hesitantly, wraps his arms around Bill's shoulders, holding the boy close. "You're m-m-m-my friend..." That word sends sharp pains into Bill's stomach and sharper ones down Robert's spine, physical and metaphysical. "I still w-w-wuh-want y-you t-to tuh-teach m-m-muh-me huh-how to d-druh-drive and things l-luh-like that. Please..." Bill's eyes burn as he cries into the fitted doublet, though he doesn't let his sobs break through. He can't stop the tears, however. "Please, don't go."

Robert holds him, one hand around the boy's head and the other wrapping around his shoulders. Not even his waist.

"I won't," he tells him.

"You p-p-p-pruh-promise?"

Robert smiles, his eyes starlight blue.

"I promise."

A promise unbroken, or he would die trying.

Bill looks up at him, his eyes shining like the pale but bright moon itself, the smile on his face more radiant than the sun itself as he wipes away his tears.

Robert smiles.

"You know, this wasn't how I planned on giving you your present," he says, smiling as he walks Bill towards the trunk of the car, the boy wrapping his arms around Robert's waist and walking with him.

Bill frowns, but curiosity sparkles in the pale depths of his eyes.

"Wuh-What d-do y-you m-m-m-mean?"

Robert opens the trunk, Bill not even inquiring as to why it was already unlocked (Robert having no intention of telling him that he opened it himself without the key just now), and Bill lets out a gasp at the sight of a very particular item in the car's trunk, his arms wrapping even more tightly around the clown's middle. Of course, Robert is not opposed to it even as he reaches in, carefully bending down and with both hands, he grabs the item.

Bill lets go of the clown's waist, backing up a little as he stares in shock at the item in the clown's hands. He's staring at it with doe-like eyes, though blue rather than brown, but wide and frozen with shock.

Robert smiles, sheepish.

"I was walking through town," he says, "and I saw this in a little shop full of all kinds of funny little things. Funny enough, the guy in the shop looked like the guy from the ice cream place. Kind of weird that the ice cream store would be called King's Scoop, don't you think? Anyway, it's not a bike and it's pretty old, but it's in good condition. I thought of you when I saw it."

Bill lets out a sharp sound, high in pitch with his shock and disbelief.

"Huh?"

Robert holds it out to him, though there was no need. Bill could very clearly see what it was. The way the black of it shone under the sunlight, almost glinting, and the way the keys shimmer under the lighting, gold in color, though faded over, the paint peeling away slightly, with age, but there was no doubt about what it was. Despite the dust coating its sides, the color worn with age and the paint chipped away from the keys, Bill knew damn well what it was.

A _typewriter_.

An _antique Royal_ typewriter.

"I know it's not exactly brand new, it's not something electric and fancy or anything like that but..." Robert holds it out to him. "That story you told? The magic stone story? That wasn't just some dumb little thing. Those characters, those images in your head, the way you told it, you can do more than just write a book. You can do all kinds of things. You've got the talent for it, it's all there in your head, you just need something better than Richie snooping through your notebooks when he thinks you aren't looking."

Bill misses that last part as he runs his fingers along the keys of the typewriter, his lips parted with his shock, the boy unable to speak at the moment. Robert beams at this.

"And your endings... they'll be perfect. They'll be the best part of the whole damn thing. In every single one of your books. They'll make fucking movies out of them but everyone will agree that the books are way better," Robert says. "You're not just some funny little storyteller, Bill. You're a _writer_."

Bill lets out a trembling gasp, Robert grins, though he turns a little sheepish once more.

"Almost gave the shopkeeper a heart attack, to be honest with you," he admits, recalling how just this morning, when he saw the little item in the shop, he'd darted faster than the speed of light to the window, scaring the shit out of the shopkeeper who, now that he thought about it, really did resemble Stephen King. Only older, kind of like the man from the ice cream place. "Almost didn't want to sell it to me either, but he did and I got you paper and ink to last you months."

Bill gives the trunk a sideways glance, seeing the bundled stacks of papers and ink ribbons as Robert speaks.

"Robert... I..."

It's beautiful.

"If you say it's too much I promise you I will hit Richie upside the head with it," Robert tells him, still smiling. "The same way Paul Sheldon hit Annie Wilkes."

"Huh-How m-m-m-m-muh-much did it c-cuh-cost?" Bill asks in a whisper.

"27 dollars," Robert admits. "I know, it's nowhere near close how much these things really cost but that guy really wanted me out of his store." His heart beats strangely, skipping a couple while it was at it. A sense of unease flickers inside of him, worry pooling in his stomach. He knows it should have been a gift from his parents when he was younger, his vocabulary far better with ink and paper than it was verbally, but still. Sharon was gone and Zack probably wouldn't even think about spending so much as three dollars for a paddle ball for Bill at this point. "You... you like it, don't you?"

Bill jerks his head up, staring at the clown with shock.

"L-Luh-Like it?" Bill whispers. "You think I duh-don't l-luh-like this? I fuh-fucking _l-luh-love_ it, you asshole!"

Robert laughs.

"But... m-m-muh-my dad..."

"Can go fuck himself," Robert tells him. "This is yours, Bill. You don't owe him any explanations and even if he finds out, if he throws it into the garbage he'll be --" he stops himself from going too far. "Look. This is yours, I will talk to him if I have to. I won't let him make you watch as he throws it into the garbage and hands it straight to Tom Savini like it's a _Creepshow_ comic," Robert sighs. "I want you to have this, Bill. There is a big, bright future ahead of you."

"But... they're juh-just d-duh-dumb stories," Bill says quietly.

Robert's eyes flash and with one hand, he holds the typewriter up. With the other --

"Ow!"

Bill flinches away when Robert pinches his side.

Not enough to actually hurt, but enough to get his point across.

"God seldom gives gifts, Bill Denbrough," Robert says. "You've got it. I won't let you waste it."

Bill massages the sore spot.

He smiles, however.

"Huh-Who are y-you? Chris Chambers?"

"Well, he wasn't wrong. Everybody's weird and you're not a wise guy with shit for brains," Robert tells him.

Bill's smile widens, though it dims.

"I can't p-p-puh-pay y-you b-b-buh-back."

"Sure, you can," Robert says, beaming. "You'd do it by being the best damn writer you can be. You think having a gift and wasting it sucks? Try being the guy who wants to see his friend be successful and the fucker wastes the talent he's got. I don't give a shit about your dad and you shouldn't give a shit about what he has to say if it isn't something good about your writing. You've gotta promise me, Bill. Promise me you won't waste this gift of yours."

"I..."

Robert bends his knees so that he's eye level with Bill rather than looming over him. He looks the boy dead in the eye, starlight blue gaze unwavering. For a moment, they don't even gaze in two different directions. They stare directly at Bill, seemingly into his very soul.

"Promise me, Bill."

Bill smiles, his eyes shining.

"I promise."

**********

"Y-You're f-fuh-fuh-fucking crazy."

"Be that as it may, you're the one behind the wheel, so keep your eyes on the road, not me."

Bill swallows nervously as he tries to keep his eyes on the road, both hands clenched tightly around the wheel until his knuckles had become pearly white, his foot hovering inches above the gas pedal instead of actually touching it. Of course, it was a difficult thing, as he was so short that he barely reached the pedals despite the fact that he had moved the seat up more than once.

"You're going to be fine, Bill," Robert promises him.

"Wuh-Why c-couldn't wuh-we huh-have juh-just ruh-rode b-buh-bikes tuh-together?" Bill asks.

"Less fun," Robert says. And, with a shit-eating smile, he adds, "For me. Plus, I didn't want to hit somebody's car."

"Accidents l-l-luh-like that huh-happen only if y-you're stupid about it," Bill says.

"Who says it'd be an accident?" Robert retorts. "I'd make sure it was Belch's car after the other day."

"Nuh-Not on Suh-Silver y-yuh-you w-w-w-wouldn't," Bill says. Silver was the best bike in the world, after all. Bill was certain she was fast enough to beat the devil if she had to. "Huh-How cuh-come y-you n-nuh-never l-luh-learned huh-how to r-ruh-ride a b-b-buh-bike?"

"My parent didn't have time for things like that," Robert says dryly, his smile turning sardonic. "My... childhood... didn't consist of fun things like bike rides and ice cream, trips to circuses and fairs and things like that."

"Oh."

"Don't sound so sad. And try not to hit that squirrel."

Bill jerks, nearly panicking, and Robert simply takes hold of the wheel and lightly turns it while the scatterbrained squirrel runs the other way.

"Be grateful, I know somebody who swerved to avoid the turkey, and then the dumb fucker ran right back in front of it and got hit."

"Oh... did it die?"

"Well, considering the fact that its feathers exploded over the front of the car and its neck went under the tire, I'd say yes."

"Ew."

"Yeah, ew," Robert says, smiling at the memory. "Just focus on the road. Make sure your mirrors are adjust and never start the car without having your seatbelt on."

"Y-Y-You duh-don't huh-have y-your seatbelt on," Bill says, trying not to look.

"Suck the fun out of this," Robert says, grabbing hold of it. "Also, if you see a deer, always assume there's another one behind it or assume it'll do a 180 and run right back onto the road."

"Wuh-Why d-do they duh-do that?" Bill asks, confused.

"Because they're stupid when they panic," Robert says. "Fear does things to animals and people, Bill. A squirrel was off the road, but he had dropped his nut. He ran back for it and didn't make it the second time."

"That's suh-sad."

"Eh, he was kind of a douche," Robert says.

Bill smiles, shaking his head, despite the morbidity of those situations.

After Mike's party, Beverly and Ben decided to go off together, riding their bikes. Richie and Eddie were the same, not exactly fooling anyone, or at least they weren't fooling Bill, Beverly, Robert, or Stan, as they decided to go to the _library_ together. Their disheveled states, the straw in Eddie's hair, and the swollen lips were enough to know what they had done. Just as the fact that Richie wouldn't go to the library for any other reason except to be alone with Eddie. Stan had gone off to birdwatch with Mike. Robert, for Bill, had dropped Georgie off at Johnny's house and that left the two of them alone.

It wasn't at all awkward and silent, uncomfortable and unpleasant. It was as it always was, it seemed.

"Thank y-you," Bill says shyly. "F-Fuh-For this."

"Of course," Robert says. "Mostly, I just want you to cruise past Belch and if he's stupid, he'll try to do damage to the car."

"Wuh-Wouldn't that b-b-be a b-buh-bad thing?" Bill asks, bemused.

"For Belch, yes," Robert says pleasantly. "Just remember, keep your eyes on the road, don't slam the brakes if you see a deer or any other animal. And try not to hit any turtles, especially the big ones. Really messes up the tires. Turkeys can really fuck the fenders."

"Animals r-ruh-really are s-scuh-scatter b-b-bruh-brained aren't they?" Bill asks.

"Yes, they are. And then across the street, their brains get scattered."

Bill laughs despite the grisliness of the statement, silently dreading the idea of hitting so much as a squirrel and God forbid he hit a turtle. He misses the twitch of Robert's lips, as though he was secretly hoping Bill would run over a turtle. The tires be damned. Literally speaking.

"Also, be grateful it's not a stick shift. You'd be grinding the hell out of it. Now, give it a little gas."

Bill does as he's told even as he pushes down on the pedal. He jolts when the car does, the latter slowly inching forward. His insides are clenching and unclenching, twisting and turning underneath his skin. His hands felt clammy and cold even though it was hot outside; he knew he was being silly, but he couldn't help but feel nervous, though he had an idea that it had nothing to do with driving the car so much as it did the person in the passenger seat.

He swallows as he tries not to think about the near kiss, trying to shove it down into the darkest depths of the back of his mind but it forces its way to the front as he relives the experience, over and over again. Something akin to longing worms its way into those thoughts, Bill's imagination taking over and making him think about what could've happened had Georgie not interrupted...

"I can hear you thinking from over here," Robert says, sounding torn between amused and guilty. "Stop it."

"Suh-Sorry," Bill murmurs, almost bashfully as he looks away from the clown, but keeps his eyes on the road. It's silent for only a moment, but it's not an uncomfortable thing. Yet Bill's curiosity bubbles to the surface. "Wuh-What's suh-something y-you've n-nuh-never tuh-told anyone b-b-buh-before?"

Robert's lips twitch, a smile gracing his painted features.

"I have many secrets, Bill. Too many to count. You'd have to be more specific."

"Wuh-Well..." Bill taps his fingers against the wheel, "Y-Y-You've m-m-muh-mentioned y-your s-suh-siblings... y-y-your b-b-bruh-brother... b-buh-but y-you've nuh-never s-s-said anything about y-your m-m-mom or d-duh-dad."

Robert shrugs.

"I didn't have a mom," he says. "Or a dad, really. I wouldn't say I was an orphan, growing up. Not like Bob Gray was. We found our own paths, really, Maturin and I, and the rest of our siblings. We were what we were, it was as simple as that, and we never bothered each other. But... as for something I've never told anyone..." he sighs, remembering the Guardians.

 _Abominations_ , they had called his kind. _Eldritch_ _abominations_. Beings that should have never been, for they served no true purpose in the Macroverse other than to destroy. They didn't protect so much as one of the Beams... They weren't like Maturin, so they didn't matter in the eyes of the other Guardians.

"None of the other..." he bites his lip, debating, "... kids..." he scoffs at himself, "... really liked me. Or my siblings that weren't Maturin. You know how some kids are picked last for everything?"

"Yuh-Yeah."

Bill knows, of course. He along with Richie, Stan, and Eddie were always the last ones picked for any games at recess. He realizes then that Robert was a lot more like them than he originally thought, with that same loneliness that came from not having any friends. Bill had always been lonely, the stuttering freak, until he had met Richie and Eddie and Stan, his three best friends in the whole world. Mike and Beverly never had friends because of the rumors that circled them, though they weren't true. They knew how it felt just the same to be alone. Ben never had any friends, at least not in Derry, that Bill knew because he was a little on the heavy side.

Georgie had friends that Bill knew of. Dorsey and Johnny, though the former was less and less these days because of Mrs. Corcoran. Georgie, as far as Bill knew, never went without any friends to play with. Friends he could trust.

It never struck Bill until just then that Robert must've been the very same way, and despite being in the circus with a few other adults, though they weren't really performers, only people he'd come across in his travels, he was alone in the world. Without real friends who he knew could watch his back and he would watch theirs. Bill also had a feeling that none of the other siblings that weren't Robert's brother didn't concern themselves with his wellbeing, just as Bill hadn't bothered to worry about Georgie as he should have in October.

"Y-Y-You know wuh-we're y-your f-f-f-friends," Bill says, smiling at him. "I'd p-p-p-pick y-you f-f-first f-f-fuh-for anything."

Robert smiles, his heart beating strangely again.

"I'd do the same for you."

"Wuh-What w-w-were their nuh-names?"

"I only remember Shardik, really," Robert says. "And that's because he died, too. A long time ago. Well, I do remember Garuda and Gan... and Aslan."

"Everyone y-y-you've m-muh-mentioned huh-has a strange n-nuh-name," Bill muses. "And that's the luh-lion from _Nuh-Narnia_."

"All names are strange," Robert says. "And yes, he was named specifically after that lion."

"Suh-So d-d-duh-does that m-m-muh-mean y-you're nuh-name ruh-really isn't Ruh-Robert?" Bill asks, curious.

Robert just gives him a grin reminiscent of the Cheshire cat. Bill smiles despite his next question.

"Huh-How'd they duh-die?"

"Maturin choked to death," Robert says, his tone blunt. "And Shardik, as I recall... he just deteriorated."

"Wuh-What about y-your suh-siblings?"

"I told you it was murder," Robert says. "But nobody cared. Same with Bob Gray. They just forgot. It's in the past, Bill. And there's only the future to look forward to, even if you don't know what's coming."

"Suh-Sounds scary," Bill says.

"It's not," Robert says. "Life is just one of those things, like a horror movie trailer, that hypes up the film and makes you think it's something it's not. Kind of like when a movie trailer makes you think that the movie is going to be actually scary, but it ends up sucking," he chuckles. "Life might seem like a constantly changing thing, but that doesn't mean it has to be bad. The one constant in life is the change that follows. Life is about change and growing up isn't as bad as adults make it out to be. Life is your game, Bill, and you hold all the cards, even if sometimes the hand you dealt is a shit one."

Bill smiles, his heart skipping a beat as his belly turns fluttery.

"That's r-r-ruh-really nuh-nice," Bill says. "Y-You cuh-could b-buh-be a l-luh-life cuh-coach."

"I'd prefer to stay the clown," Robert says. "I'm not like you. I don't have a promising career ahead of me. I don't see a hot wife in my future."

"Huh-How d-do y-you know I'd even g-g-guh-get m-m-muh-married?" Bill asks.

"Dude, she'd be the hot actress that stars in most of your horror films," Robert says, thinking of _The_ _Attic_. "Maybe even a sexy ginger."

Bill's lips quirk with amusement.

"V-V-Vivid," he says. He lowers his eyes, however. He sighs as he pushes down on the brake, not that they were really going that fast, not even breaking twenty, and puts the shifter into park. Robert frowns.

"Why've we stopped?"

Bill lets go of the wheel and fiddles with his own fingers, a prominent flush overtaking the pale skin of his face. He feels a lump swelling in his throat as his heart rate speeds up, his belly feeling jittery with nerves.

"W-W-Wuh-What if I d-d-duh-didn't w-wuh-want a h-huh-hot w-w-wife?"

"Why wouldn't you?" Robert asks, confused.

Bill gives him a pointed look.

"Are you r-r-ruh-really guh-going to try and f-fuh-forget about it?"

Robert looks away, knowing what Bill was referring to.

He's still pissed, understand. He doesn't fault Georgie, not really, but some part of him does. He doesn't regret letting that little boy go that day in October, he never will, but dammit if he wasn't still mad about it...

He hadn't even been aware of what he was doing, the same as Bill. He had nearly lost control, not even of his hunger but it always seemed that he was somehow hurting Bill... He didn't _want_ to _hurt_ Bill, he wanted to --

\-- but it was wrong of him, wasn't it? Bill wasn't focused on girls this summer, or finding his missing little brother. Bill should be focusing on pretty girls like Beverly Marsh, even if it was apparent that she was going to end up with Ben. Bill should spend his days writing stories on those blank pages in the trunk of the car, using the typewriter to do so. He shouldn't even be worrying about his father's wrath and missing his mother; Robert still doesn't even understand where that came from, as in that old life, Sharon was never unfaithful and Zack was never one who liked to hit the bottle.

He would _die_ for Bill. Without question. The boy could hardly grasp that concept, however, and that was part of why Robert knew he couldn't interfere anymore than he already had, even if the green beast of envy inside of him wanted to tear Audra Phillips a new one, even though she was only Bill's age at this moment and in a completely different state.

He sighs, willing his envy to go away.

It doesn't.

Of course it doesn't.

"I don't want to," he admits. "But you're so young. You should be focusing on girls and things like that, not worrying about your piece of shit dad ruining your future by tossing away a perfectly good typewriter or worrying about... other things."

"Wuh-What if I w-wuh-want to w-wuh-worry about... the other things?" Bill asks shyly.

Robert frowns, a Sad Clown's expression.

"I'm y-y-young b-buh-but n-nuh-not stupid," Bill says, almost tearfully. "And... it's huh-hurtful f-f-for y-you of all p-puh-people to s-suh-say that." His voice cracks a little. "I nuh-know there's an age d-d-duh-difference buh-but y-you're nuh-not juh-just suh-some w-w-weirdo. I duh-don't huh-have any experience buh-but I'm still nuh-not stupid."

"I never said you were," Robert says. "Never even thought it. I'm not stupid either. I know you've never had that conversation with your parents."

"The Talk?"

"Yeah, that one," Robert says, sighing as he realizes he just stuck his own foot into his own grave. "Go on, ask."

"Y-You ever do it?" Bill asks, his face feeling as though it was on fire. "Huh-Have suh-sex?"

Robert frowns as he thinks.

In that old life...

Yes.

In this one...

No.

Which answer should he give? Or should he avoid answering entirely? Both were correct, in a sense.

It was beyond him why he was the one giving Bill the dreaded "Talk" instead of Zack or Sharon or even the both of them. God forbid in this life that Zack be the one to have this conversation with Bill. He knows the boy isn't stupid, but his knowledge only stems from things he's heard Richie say as though the other boy actually knows what the fuck he's talking about, or what he's heard about Beverly and Henry, which, of course, wasn't at all true. As well as a sexual education class that he didn't want to partake in, not that it was at all useful since it was obvious the teacher didn't want to participate in the class either.

"It's not as scary as it seems," Robert says. "It's just another part of life. You don't have to worry about your friends finding out your fear of lady parts and calling you a homosexual, you know."

"I knuh-know," Bill says. "Nuh-Never suh-said I was scared of it..." he says, pouting even though Robert hit the nail on the head.

"Yes, you are," Robert says, trying not to sound too amused. "But you don't have to be. If you do decide to punch in that little card though, don't do it with someone you know you'll end up regretting later."

"Duh-Don't y-you huh-have to luh-love suh-someone to huh-have suh-sex with them?" Bill asks almost naively.

"No," Robert says. "People who hate each other can have sex with each other just the same. Frankly, I've never understood why women shame other women for taking a large amount of men to their bed. It's not their bed and it's not their body, so they ought to mind their own business. Of course, you should wait until you're old enough to actually know what you want, and you're old enough to remember to use a rubber unless you want, nine months from that day, to have a kid. That's something that should wait until you're married, at the very least."

"Nuh-Noted," Bill says, smiling. "Duh-Does it h-huh-hurt?"

"The first time, mostly," Robert says. "For girls, really, or if you're gay and you're the bottom. Then it starts to feel really good."

"So... y-you suh-said you n-nuh-never huh-had a g-g-girlfriend..."

"Bill, that's one of those things we don't talk about," Robert says, though he's smiling. Morbid. "Guys can have sex with other guys and girls can have sex with other girls. It's as simple as that. You figure it out as you go along, I suppose. Let's just say the person I gave mine to, hasn't spoken to me in a while."

Well, that wasn't true.

He, in this life, had not spoken to either one of them. He knew, through Georgie and Roberta, that neither one were aware of the existence of this reality. He hopes he could keep it that way. He doubted he'd be able to talk to himself, after all, and he honestly did not want to. That old life somehow managed to squeeze in a happily ever after, despite the fucked up tale of which it was woven from. Almost like the original fairy tales, like _Cinderella_ or something like that. Or even _Sleeping_ _Beauty_ , now that he thought about it. He grimaces.

"Oh... wuh-what w-wuh-was it l-luh-like?"

"Erotic," Robert says simply. "Now stop asking about it."

"Okay..."

Silence.

Robert knows, of course;

"Were you on the top or the bottom?"

"Get out."

Bill just laughs.

"It's like riding a bike," Robert says. "You never forget."

Bill smiles at that.

"I duh-don't w-w-want to f-fuh-forget it," Bill admits. Albeit shyly. "The k-k-kuh-kiss... w-w-well... the almost kiss."

"I know you don't," Robert says softly.

Would it be selfish of him? Yes. Without a doubt. He was taking from Bill and the boy had no idea about it. The boy had no idea that there really was a beautiful wife in his future, a talented actress who would star in the horror film based on his book, even if the ending in the movie was to be different than the ending from the book. Robert didn't want Bill's endings to suck in this life. He wanted the boy to have the happiness he deserved. Not the childhood traumas affiliated with the monstrous nightmare that was Pennywise the Dancing Clown.

Of course, Pennywise had never been the true monster in the story. Pennywise had hardly been in the story at all, really. The real monsters were the people of Derry. The perverted, twisted parents and the bullies that tormented them.

"I don't want to forget it," Robert says honestly. "I don't want to mess you up, though. Your future."

"Y-You w-w-w-wouldn't," Bill says.

"You don't know that," Robert says.

"M-M-Muh-Maybe I d-don't b-b-buh-but I do know that I d-d-duh-don't w-w-want a fuh-future w-w-without y-you in it. Friend or not."

Robert manages a smile.

"We're still on for the fireworks show, aren't we?" he asks.

"Yuh-Yes, absolutely."

**********

Robert flinches at the sharp sounds of fireworks whistling as they shoot off into the dark sky before they pop, almost like balloons, a shower of colorful sparks decorating the sky into different shapes. Stars, mostly, all reds, whites, and blue. It's the same as yesterday when they were cloud watching rather than stargazing, with the both of them lying on the hood of the Plymouth while staring up at the sky, the rest of the Losers and Georgie enjoying the fireworks show.

Bill, at Robert's insistence, had been the one to drive the car as well as park it a safe distance from the street, lest they get caught in the parade and showered with red, white, and blue confetti and glitter.

Georgie and Richie, of course, were chasing Eddie around with sparklers.

"Can y-y-you tuh-tell the f-f-future f-f-from the s-stuh-stars?" Bill asks suddenly.

"Well, the stars don't really tell the future as much as they tell stories," Robert says. "Some people think the alignments of the planets matter but I find the subject moot. They're like people, they're more than what they appear."

"That's p-p-puh-poetic," Bill says, smiling. "Y-You c-could b-b-buh-be a writer."

"Nah," Robert says. "The shit I could come up with would scare people more than Stephen King ever could."

"Then shouldn't you write it?" Bill asks, not even stuttering.

"Some stories aren't meant to be told, kind of like constantly repeating Freddy Krueger's story and one hot female ends up killing him at the end just for another cliffhanger to be left open," Robert says, grinning. "The shit in your head, though? You better write that down."

Bill smiles at that.

He doesn't have the heart to tell the clown, of course, that he had hidden the typewriter under his bed and the papers in his closet and the ink ribbons in his underwear drawer... He had just been beyond grateful that his dad hadn't been home when Robert had dropped him off, uncaring about his dad's previous warning.

"They're like clouds," Robert says. "People can see shapes in them. They've either got keen eyes or they like to make things up. You see Cygnus, don't you?"

"N-N-Nuh-No."

"Cygnus is brightest in the early summer, it's the swan constellation," Robert says, pointing at the sky, where fireworks aren't currently going off and blocking his view. "It'll be gone soon enough, this is actually the longest I think Cygnus has lasted. Usually it's only visible on June 29."

"Oh. I still d-don't s-suh-see it."

Robert, with one hand and a gentle touch, takes hold of Bill's chin and moves his face so that his eyes can look where the clown is pointing. Bill's face heats up, almost instantly, but Robert is either oblivious or doesn't want to think about it at the moment. He looks where Robert is pointing, seeing a bunch of stars, but none that resemble a swan.

"Look over there," Robert says. "See the two big stars and then the four little ones in a row?"

Bill squints.

"Sorta."

"That's it. Cygnus. The four stars are the long neck, the two big stars are the body, and the stars across, those ones are the wings."

Bill smiles as the stars seemingly take the shape of a beautiful, otherworldly swan.

"I suh-see it."

Robert bites his lower lip as the fingers of his other hand, which still rests on the car's hood, start to tap against the metal, slowly. His eyes flash, starlight blue to otherworldly orange, and he smiles as Bill lets out a trembling gasp.

The swan's wings start to flap and Bill watches with awe as it seemingly flies, almost gliding, across the sky. His childish mind thinks that it's his imagination and his eyes playing funny jokes on him, he hasn't a clue the reality of it. He beams, however, when he spots another set of stars, identical to the first, another swan, joining it. They fly together, the two swans, even twining their necks together before pressing their foreheads onto the others'.

"It's b-b-b-buh-beautiful," Bill whispers.

"Yes," Robert says, his eyes no longer on the sky but on Bill, seeing how the boy's eyes were shining under the pale moon. "It is."

Bill's eyes flicker, though the shine never disappears, as he glances at Robert, understanding the implication behind the clown's words. He smiles, however, not at all disturbed. Bill clears his throat, shy and awkward, as he inches closer and closer, just as he did yesterday before Georgie interrupted.

He does not care about the risks, however. Robert isn't just his friend.

Maybe he never has been, and Bill had just tricked himself into thinking that it was possible for them to just remain friends. He doesn't want that. He doesn't want some beautiful actress for a wife years down the road. He doesn't even know where Robert gets that idea from, even if to another person, it would have merit. Bill does want that promising career in his future, but that career couldn't have happened, not in this life, if not for the clown. If not for Robert. Bill would've never really thought about it. He would have tricked himself into thinking that his stories really were dumb and lame. Would have let his father make him believe the lie.

He's never felt this way before. It was more than just compliments and being given a gift that would be expensive as hell under any other circumstances. It was the fact that nobody else, not even his parents, perhaps to help with his stutter, had given him such a thoughtful gift. It was a gift nobody else in this crummy little town would've thought to get Bill Denbrough, or Stuttering Bill as they liked to call him behind his back, kids at school and even his teachers. Nobody else would've spent so much as 27 dollars on such a gift, not for him. His dad certainly wouldn't have, Bill knew.

No, it was the faith Robert had in him. It was the same kind of faith Chris Chambers had for Gordie Lachance, but those two were childhood friends. It was different, in a way. Although so many years later, long into his adulthood, Gordie remembered his best friend from when he was a kid. Bill didn't think he wanted to part ways with Robert, and not just because of the gift. And even if they did, though he didn't want to think about that or even imagine a world where it was a possibility, Bill didn't think he could forget about Robert. To some, the man was just a freak from the circus. To Bill, he was one of the best people he ever met. He was one of his friends. He was something good in the crap town of Derry, Maine. He never had someone who would stand up to his dad if need be, who would protect him if Bill asked.

He never had a friend like Robert.

Well, the word friend still left something sour in Bill's mouth, and maybe it was childish, but he didn't care. He'd like to think that maybe, just _maybe_ \--

Robert runs his fingers along Bill's bangs, along his hairline, as the boy settles himself atop of him, just as he did yesterday. That same electrical spark was humming pleasantly, almost merrily, in the air. The whistles and pops of the fireworks seemed to fade away along with the happy cheers of the kids in this town, all there was was Bill's own breathing and the sound of his unsteady heartbeat.

He presses his palms against Robert's chest, unable to worry about anyone walking by and seeing them in this position. Even Georgie.

The clown's heart beats, skipping a few while it was at it. The smell of ink and paper, now joined with the metallic stink of a typewriter, makes him smile as he sees that beautiful shine in Bill's eyes. Those pale jewels. Fear is not present at the moment. Bill does not fear getting caught, by an adult or by his bullies, and Robert does not fear hurting his friend --

No.

 _Not_ his friend.

 _Not_ his _little_ _buddy_.

His _mate_.

His.

After all, the stars don't align for just anybody.

Bill leans closer, legs sliding across the cool metal of the car's hood, his chest pressed against Robert's sternum, hands on either side of the clown's chest, pressed against the soft fabric of the fitted doublet. His fingertips brush the starched ruff, erupting pleasant tingles across his flesh.

He lets out a shaky breath as Robert wraps his arms around his waist, pulling him farther up the length of the older man's body. His own arms wrap around Robert's neck, pulling him close. Their eyes never stray.

One gloved hand slides down his back, along his spine, and Bill's belly flutters as the other hand cups the back of his head, repeating yesterday. The boy prays that nobody interrupts this time. Georgie or anyone else for that matter. He bites his lower lip, and shivers at the dark look that flickers in the older man's eyes. Yet not for a moment does he feel afraid. Gloved fingers, soft and silky to the touch, dig into his hair as both of them lean closer to each other.

Stars were pretty, sure, Bill thought boyishly, but were dull and dim in comparison to the blue of Robert's eyes.

Bill digs his fingers into the back of Robert's neck, some of them threading into the dark brown locks at base of Robert's skull and the rest grabbing hold of the starched ruff. The feeling bubbling inside of him, that made his heart skip beats all while beating so quickly at the same time, was foreign to him. Almost alien. And as he gazes into those starlight blue orbs, wide and unnerving but beyond beautiful, he knows what he wants. More than anything else in this world. In this life and the next.

The red painted tip of Robert's nose brushes along Bill's cheek, ice cold breath ghosting over the boy's skin, making goosebumps run along his arms. He pants, breathless, even as those red painted lips come closer to his own.

He parts his lips as Robert presses his own to them.

Bill trembles and sighs into the kiss, his very first kiss, as the sweetly smells of cotton candy, peanuts, hotdogs, and popcorn, and most definitely cinnamon (that one making him smile into the kiss), soothes his nerves. A wet mouth slides across his own and he pants into the clown's mouth, his chest heaving.

It's _nothing_ like the kiss with Beverly.

He lets out a sharp squeaky sound, sneakers sliding across the hood of the car, his grip on the clown tightening, when he feels teeth biting into his lip. Robert seemingly swallows the sound as he opens his mouth, deepening the kiss. He doesn't miss how the clown holds him all the more firmly, as though he somehow knew that Beverly's name crossed Bill's thoughts for a split second and the groan that erupts from the older man is a sound of _envy_.

Bill, inexperienced as he is, tries to keep up with him, and lets out a garbled _moan_ as he feels a wet tongue sliding across his lips, moistening them. He squirms as he feels that wet tongue going into his mouth, sliding along his own and he leans further into the strange new feelings.

This was not some tiny peck in a school play, just as it was not some sweet and soft, boyish thing. He was not kissing another boy after all. Robert was not a boy. He was a _man_.

Bill can only think one thing at that very moment as he tries to deepen the kiss himself, letting out a sharp sound that Robert devours as tongues dance together, almost like a battle of wills, one of which Bill loses and Robert's tongue explores his mouth. It's incredibly _wet_ and incredibly _hot_ , the way those soft lips slide across his own, painting the boy's pale pink lips into a deep red, smearing lipstick all over Bill's mouth for all to see, marking Bill as the _clown's_. Bill thinks just one word as fireworks go off around them, literally and figuratively.

Skyrockets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Comments and kudos always appreciated! Let me know your thoughts down below!  
> \- See you in Chapter Twenty-Five!


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Chapter 25!  
> \- I know I said before that this would be the summer school chapter, but I was mistaken. I dunno, this chapter and the next one I'll be uploading just popped into my head about three days ago and, well, here ya go!  
> \- I had the weirdest dream about Bill and Hannibal Lecter(Mikkelson) just last night.  
> \- A heads up for Robert and Bill in this chapter. Not entirely, but somewhat. A lot of kissing in this chapter... I should probably update more tags. A heads up, obviously, because Bill is a minor but everything with Robert is consensual.  
> \- Also, a heads up for "attempted" again as well as underage drinking and smoking but Robert is Bill's knight in shining armor, or in this case his knight in a clown costume. I'm going to be honest, that scene is inspired by both Twilight with Edward saving Bella and Roger from American Dad. When he killed five people for 20 dollars, and casually mentioned killing 6 people over 19 dollars the week before. He's my favorite. Also, a little bit of Bruce from Finding Nemo. And yes, when he went into a frenzy. And the "old man" is from the Bev scene from the original second part of It.  
> \- I'm gonna be honest, towards the end of this chapter is inspired by a scene I can just barely remember from the book (the laundry mat but obviously it's different) and I'm gonna be even more honest, I'm not sure how long this story is going to be. Pretty long, that's for sure, I just hope the big twist I've got planned will be enjoyed. I've got an ending in mind already, but that won't be for a while ;)  
> \- Sorry if I missed any typos but I love the comments and kudos on here so let me know what you think of this chapter down below! And at least it didn't take me a full two weeks to update! I consider that a win!  
> \- Also, also, Coraline scenes are coming but for a bit, its gonna be centered around Bill and the clown

Robert steals Bill's breath away, swooping in and swallowing down the sharp little gasps and heated pants that escape Bill's swelling lips. Bill trembles even as he tries to mimic the older man's movements, trying to press his tonge back against Robert's even though it made his legs feel like jelly. Quivery and weak. Something in the pit of Bill's belly stirs funnily.

All he can hear is the wet smacking of their lips, just as he can feel Robert's red lipstick being smeared across his own mouth. It's sweet and soft, their kiss, plush lips against his own, until it _isn't_. Bill pulls away, if only to take a quick breath for air, a thin strand of saliva between their lips for the split second they're parted, and then he's letting out a shocked sound, almost like a mouse squeaking because it's been caught by a cat, when Robert suddenly wraps his long arms around his smaller figure and gloved hands grab hold of him. He lets out a sharp, trembling gasp, when Robert suddenly flips them over.

The cars shakes from the sudden shift and Bill shivers when he feels the cold metal underneath his back as he stares up, wide-eyed, at the clown, a thrill surging through him at the sight of the smudged lipstick at the corners of Robert's mouth, staining the greasepaint. He knows his own mouth must be absolutely smeared with it as well and --

\-- Fuck that was _hot_.

Robert stares down at him, his starlight blue eyes impossibly wide and beyond unnerving, a note of hesitancy in their deep depths. Gloved hands are on either side of Bill's head, palms against the windshield. Bill's feet don't even dangle over the car's hood. The puffball atop of Robert's boot, however, does brush against the car's light before he's hovering over Bill, his legs between the younger boy's and his knees touching the outsides of the boy's thighs, though they were still covered by his shorts.

He was that much taller, that much bigger, than Bill.

A hint of worry and fear shines in those blue eyes as he keeps staring down at the boy beneath him, seeing the shock in those pale eyes.

Had he gone too far?

Bill didn't stink of sweet and tasty, tasty fear...

So, did that mean...?

"I'm okay," Bill whispers, wrapping his arms around the clown's neck and pulling that handsome, painted face towards his own. He had unintentionally let go the moment Robert had flipped them. "It's okay."

Was it?

Is it?

Really?

Robert couldn't help but wonder even as he leant down, one of Bill's hands cupping the back of his head while the other clung to the back of the fitted doublet. Bill kissed him then, open-mouthed and wetly.

So very lewdly.

One long arm moves from the windshield to slide underneath Bill's back, lifting the boy's lower body towards his own. He kisses Bill back, fervor unwavering, until the boy is panting into his mouth and Robert can _smell_ it. He can _smell_ the fevered sweetness.

It stirs.

Right between Bill's legs.

That one makes him growl, low and dangerous, absolutely predatory, positively _alpha_ , into Bill's mouth.

It's a noise that should scare Bill. It should frighten him as it would a meek little rabbit that's realized a massive, ravenous wolf is right behind it, about to lunge and _kill_. But Bill has never been a meek little thing, and it has quite the opposite effect, actually, a reaction the clown hadn't expected at all. Bill throws his head back, something hidden deep inside of the boy making him have the audacity, the sheer _nerve_ , to _moan_ , long and wanton, high pitched and --

\-- Bil pulls away, panting heavily, as Robert presses his face into his neck, painted lips brushing along the delicate skin there, as though toying with the idea of leaving behind kisses, daring to suck deeply into the pale flesh, and leave behind his marks of lipstick smooches and love bites. His marks and his marks alone --

\-- No.

 _Its_ ' marks.

That thought has the clown's eyes rolling into the back of his head, the idea of everyone and anyone in this dirty little town and on this earthly plane and beyond even that knowing that William "Bill" Denbrough was sporting the clown's marks -- Its' marks -- being nothing short of fucking orgasmic. Everyone in this world and the next and far beyond would know that Bill belonged to another, that he was _claimed_. That he was already _mated_. It sends a thrill, almost like a shock of electricity, a blast of lightning, coursing through his physical forms vein's and surging through his true form.

It was beyond erotic.

it was more than orgasmic.

It was _real_.

The bottoms and heels of Bill's sneakers squeak across the hood of the car even as something in his clouding thoughts makes him lift his legs and push himself closer to Robert, the boy biting his lower lip (the clown's eyes darkening, visibly, as he watches that moment of shyness) as bill feels something _hard_ touching the inside of his thigh, nearly brushing against his own crotch.

He should be scared, surely.

Not _aroused_.

He can't help his bodily reactions, however, not that he actually wants to at the moment.

His cock twitches inside of his shorts, straining against the fabric of his underwear, liquid heat pooling in his belly. A feeble whimper nearly passes his swollen, lipstick stained lips. Robert's eyes are beyond wide, fear as crystal in them. As well as _hunger_. And yet he asks, in a whisper;

"Are you afraid?"

His eyes are so very strange, Bill thinks despite the heated mist in his mind, so bizarre, even. He sees them then, the truly unnatural blueness of them, and how they seem to glint like pure silver, almost like two gleaming dots from flashlights or even, possibly more accurately, like two fat silver dollars. They reminded Bill of stars, or perhaps those supposed unknown lights that flashed in the sky, without logical explanations to back them up.

Something foreign. Alien, even.

And he can just see the barest trace, mere hints, of an otherworldly orange shining in their depths. It makes Bill think of masks, then, though he knows not yet why exactly. The painted face that of a clown surely being a mere mask to the indescribable _thing_ underneath. Bill isn't sure why, but Robert reminds him then of spiders and stars, both so foreign and deadly, so very alien...

Unknown to him.

And beyond dangerous.

Although Bill felt, at that moment, quite alike a little fly in the great spider's web, but a miniscule thing in a galaxy among galaxies, a puny thing in comparison, but a timid little prey in a dangerous predator's grasp, he felt so very _safe_. He felt as though the world could fall down tomorrow, and Robert would still be here for him. That no matter what, Robert would always be here for him, to keep him safe and protected, and _loved_.

He could not explain it, that was just how he felt. He was not at all afraid.

He felt no fear.

Above all as well, Robert's eyes reminded him of two pools, so deep that he felt as though he was drowning in them despite the fact that when he gazed into their depths, he felt like he was floating away from the world. Floating as a balloon would in the sky, floating away into the vast, never ending expanse of outer space and galaxies beyond.

Into the unknown.

"No," Bill whispers, reminiscent of yesterday

For that, Robert kisses him, so deeply and powerfully. It should anger the clown, enrage him to the point of becoming something monstrous, and should make him murderous, but it simply doesn't. Not anymore. He instead kisses Bill as though he thought it would be the last time and he was making every moment count. He swallows every pitiful whimper and needy whine that the boy makes, kisses him until Bill is forced to pull away, gasping for air like a fish out of water as his legs twitch and his body squirms. Bill's fingers card through Robert's hair as the other hand massages the back of the older man's neck, fingertips being tickled by the soft fabric of the clown's ruff as that soft and wet but incredibly _hot_ mouth moves from his lips and back down to his neck.

A gloved hand moves from its spot beside Bill's head to take hold of the boy's wrist, pinning it to the windshield as those painted lips run along the column of Bill's throat. The clown can hear Bill's heartbeat, the sound far louder than his own, unsteady as the beating drum, so very fast paced, just as he can hear and even smell the blood rushing through the boy's veins. A hand, so small and fragile compared to his own, grasps his shoulder blade as he keeps the other pressed against the windshield, Bill's legs falling on either side of Robert's.

He lets go of Bill's wrist and takes hold of the boy's shirt with one hand, a red and black flannel he remembers all too well, and he hesitates. He looks to Bill, countless questions in his eyes, and Bill answer the one easily.

"Y-Yuh-Yes," Bill murmurs, his eyes begging.

For _more_.

Robert kisses him as with one hand, he undoes the first button of Bill's flannel, both of the boy's hands running through his hair. He moves his lips down to Bill's collar and while the boy's breath does turn shaky, not even once does he ask Robert to stop. He knows, too, without even asking, that should he say stop or no, Robert will stop.

Soft, plush lips trail along his chest as Robert's hands cup him, though Bill is smooth and flat, unlike a girl would be. Robert does not care about that as he mouths at Bill's warm flesh, kissing and sucking at the spot between Bill's breasts. Bill lets out a keening sound, a soft pant, as he feels his shorts becoming too tight on his person, a prominent tent rising between his legs as Robert's hands knead him, gloved fingers just shy of brushing over pale pink nipples. Bill keeps running his fingers through those soft, dark brown locks, heavy and breathless moans passing his lips as his toes start to curl, Robert's forehead pressing against his sternum as more of his buttons are undone, his lips making their way down to Bill's belly.

He pants, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he closes them, those wonderful smells of cotton candy and popcorn, peanuts and hotdogs, and cinnamon so enchanting. He misses the dozens upon hundreds, possibly even thousands, of bright red balloons surrounding the both of them, floating away into the air as more manifest out of nothing at all. He squirms, mewling, as Robert's tongue slides along his flesh, hands heading for more buttons, and then --

POP.

Bill jumps as he hears more fireworks going off in the sky, the darkness illuminated by glittering red, white, and blue stars. Fake stars. Robert's eyes shoot open, every single red balloon popping itself out of existence, just as quickly as Bill moves, opening his eyes. The alpha inside of the clown grows defensive -- _protective_ \-- and a long tongue, serpentine and prehensile, though not at all forked like a devil's tongue, nearly shoots out of his mouth along with his teeth sharpening themselves against his will, both nearly touching Bill's bared skin, as his eyes flash sickly yellow, a warning color. Ominously so. He claps a gloved hand to his mouth and closes his eyes, trying his hardest not to inhale.

It doesn't work. It doesn't help in the slightest.

He almost gags from the pronounced smell, not because he finds it revolting but because it's beyond intoxicating, seemingly ensnaring his sense of smell and numbing every other sense he had... He keeps his hand pressed against his mouth. He fears that if he does not, a sound no human being is meant to make, a sound not of this earthly realm, might just escape. He keeps his eyes closed as well, shuddering at the force of the powerful aroma that permeates the air, even just for a moment.

He's confused. His _instincts_ are confused. For one, he feels hungry. He feels the same hungry feeling he gets whenever he goes on a hunt, seeking prey and using their deepest, innermost fears against them before going in for the kill and feeding upon tasty, tasty, beautiful flesh before feasting on their fear. Their Shine. For another, he feels... as an alpha does when it's mate is endangered... Bill was startled, frightened even, and that instinct wants to kill the person still letting off the fireworks... that instinct wants to claim, to mate...

And he can do neither. He cannot feed, at the moment at least, and he certainly cannot...

... mate.

He wants to, so badly, but he _can't_.

A pitiful whine, that of a creature being denied something it both wanted and needed, nearly escapes him. He clamps his hand all the more tightly onto his mouth, just barely able to trap the sound away.

He lowers his hand after only a few moments, the entire limb trembling, his fingers twitching, as his pupils expand when he opens his eyes. He swallows, the familiar feeling of being hungry twinging in the pit of his belly as pain flares underneath the scar on his chest, white-hot and agonizing.

He's hungry.

He's confused.

A mixture of a beastly mode and a "male mode" bubble inside of him, confusing each other.

When he looks at Bill, his instincts wonder;

Food... or mate?

Unsure.

It isn't Bill's fault, of course. The fireworks had startled the boy despite his moment of recalling an episode of _The Brady Bunch_ and the realization that anyone could walk on by the car, pass by while minding their own business until they realize what was going on atop of the car and see Bill Denbrough kissing Robert Gray (or whatever the hell is name was), a man kissing a young boy, frightening him.

However, Bill only fears getting caught because he doesn't want _Robert_ to get into trouble. His little heart is still pounding with fear, racing faster than it should be, almost having popped out of his chest like he was a cartoon character. The sickly sweet and tantalizing scent, raw and pure, beyond overwhelming, was rolling off the boy, crashing upon the clown's sense of smell like tidal waves, as the boy quickly goes to button up his shirt, red tinging his cheeks all the way up to his ears as his fingers fumble and he mutters profanities. His fear at the two of them getting caught, of his dad finding out and getting _Robert_ into trouble, is making him shaky and rendering his limbs useless.

Robert would be annoyed if he wasn't terrified himself right now. Not at getting caught but at being with Bill a moment longer than necessary even though Bill is supposed to be his _friend_ in this life. He would be annoyed with Bill, because the boy has always had a problem with considering his own safety and valuing self-preservation, always putting others ahead of himself, if he wasn't worried himself about the boy's safety. Robert used to find the act silly if not outright stupid, though it suited Bill's good-natured character. He could understand where Bill was coming from, but Robert was the one who was supposed to protect Bill.

Not the other way around.

He forces his eyes to change color, from yellow to blue, and forces the teeth to shrink back into his gums. Both actions hurt beyond explanation and he can taste his own blood in his mouth, which sends the hunger and the fear nearly into a rampage. His eyes seem to feel too large for their sockets, stinging as though he's started to cry and pulsing as though he's been crying for hours, and his gums sting as though his teeth are falling out instead of simply hiding away.

Robert gazes at this beautiful boy before him, tilting his head in a catlike gesture, eyes wide with confusion and hunger, fear and love. Bill has begun to stutter on his curse, his face growing red with anger and frustration as his buttons refuse to slide into their proper places so his shirt can cover his body. He catches a glance at Bill's heaving chest just before the boy gives up and grabs hold of both sides of his shirt with one hand, hiding it from his and anyone else's view.

The alpha in him both likes that, and doesn't. Mostly because he could see the lipstick marks he and he alone left behind, knowing his own mouth was smudged. He glances at Bill's lips, where red lipstick is smeared in a way that, should anybody see him, they would assume, first and foremost, that he had been with a _girl_ rather than a boy. Or a man. Robert twitches, almost fidgety, as one of the beasts inside of him, that was a part of him, urges him to go further, to make more and more of those marks all over Bill's body and mark the boy as his and his alone.

As Its'.

But he can't.

He knows he can't.

Just as he knows that no matter what, he's screwed.

He doesn't reach for Bill, though he longs to, more than anything else in this world. He tries his hardest to ignore the splitting pain he feels in his stomach then, as though something was ripping through the flesh inside and the contents of his stomach were spilling out into his body as though he were human. And it was killing him.

The taste of blood in the back of his mouth, like copper, his much harder to ignore.

"I'm so sorry, Bill," Robert whispers, his voice laced with his hurt and his upset.

His hands shake as he forces them to remain balled into fists, pressed against his upper thighs. His elbows quiver and his biceps tremble as he forces himself to remain still, gritting his teeth as his eyes glass over with tears. He can't have the boy. He just _can't_. He can't have his own mate.

It _hurts_.

Bill stills at that, looking up at Robert with wide eyes, looking as though he had been slapped in the face, hard, instead of apologized to. His own eyes take on a glassy sheen at that, the whites of them becoming the faintest bit of pink as they water and sting. Robert recoils, that apologetic look on his face never fading.

"W-Wuh-What?" Bill asks softly, as though he's misheard Robert or he's _hoping_ he did. "Huh-How c-c-c-an y-yuh-you b-buh-be s-suh-sorry?"

The clown is silent.

A whine bubbles in his chest, daring to break free, but he forces it down. He's hurt Bill too much as it is. His lips quiver as he tries to ignore the pangs erupting in his stomach, surging through his scar as though he's reliving being stabbed. Over and over again.

Under his scar, everything _hurts_.

"W-Wuh-Well..." Bill says, his tone growing defiant, his eyes _shining_ with his upset. "I'm n-nuh-not s-suh-sorry... and y-yuh-you should b-buh-be..." Bill says, sniffling, trying not to show that it had actually really hurt his feelings that Robert was apologizing for the kiss. He knows that it is considerably weird and would be frowned upon, but he didn't see how either one of them could have done anything wrong. He didn't think Robert had anything to be sorry for. He flushes, all the way down to his neck and all the way up to his ears. "I r-r-ruh-really l-luh-liked it," Bill whispers, breathless in a way that proves his statement. "It... It w-wuh-was r-ruh-really g-guh-good... I've n-nuh-never b-buh-been k-kuh-kissed l-luh-like that."

He grows shy, sheepish even.

"I've n-nuh-never r-ruh-really b-buh-been k-kuh-kissed, f-fuh-for that m-m-muh-matter..." He smiles, dorky and moony. Dopey, daresay. "You were my first," he whispers, not even stuttering. "And... I really liked it. I d-duh-don't regret it and you shouldn't either."

"I don't," Robert admits. "Not really... I just worry about you."

Bill stares up at him, a whirlwind of emotions spiraling inside of him at that very moment. He feels flattered that Robert cares so much, unlike quite a few people who he knows would have taken advantage of him without hesitation. Who would go out of their way to hurt him just because they _could_. The same as Robert could have done with Beverly. He knows this strange thing that he and Robert have was beyond weird, considerably taboo, and both of them could get into a lot of trouble, but he doesn't care. He has a good thing going for him in this crappy thing he calls his life, in this shitty little town he calls home, and he isn't going to let anyone else ruin it for him.

And he knows Robert shouldn't be feeling as guilty as he does right now.

But this isn't the place to talk about it.

"Do... do you want to get out of here?" Bill asks shyly, not meeting Robert's eyes when they turn to look at him, inquiring. "I... I huh-have to m-m-muh-make sure G-Guh-Georgie g-guh-goes w-wuh-with J-Juh-Johnny b-buh-but... if you d-duh-didn't m-muh-mind... I'd l-luh-like to huh-hang out with you... j-juh-just a l-luh-little l-longer..."

Robert stares at him, understanding flashing in his eyes.

"You know what you're asking."

There is not a hint of a question in his words.

He knows, too.

"Y-Yuh-Yeah," Bill says softly, trembling even as he smiles. "I n-nuh-know..."

Robert stares at him with those impossibly wide eyes, so wide that Bill feels that they're larger than any human eyes are supposed to be. It's a silly thought, nothing more than a passing thing, but Robert's eyes seemingly glint as he thinks that thought. Robert presses a gloved hand to Bill's cheek, cupping the side of his face, and he presses their lips together, kissing him languidly and sweetly.

Passionately.

Bill tries to return the kiss but then Robert is pulling away.

"I... I need a moment..." Robert tells him, his voice growing soft as a gloved hand comes to settle on his stomach, Bill frowning curiously at the action. "I..." He swallows, thinking of an excuse. Or, at the very least, half of the truth. "I need to eat something."

"Oh. D-D-Duh-Do y-yuh-you wuh-want to b-b-buh-buy a h-huh-hotdog?" Bill asks, reaching into his pocket. "I've g-guh-got a l-luh-little --"

"No... God, no..." Robert says, shaking his head. He does smile at Bill's sweetness despite the fact that his insides feel as though they've become claws and were currently ripping themselves apart. Hungrily. "I'll... I'll get something... go... go find your brother... I'll just be a minute..."

He turns away then, about to depart, if only for a moment to find something -- some _one_ \-- but Bill is reaching for his face. He presses his little hand to Robert's cheek, his palm and fingertips, his very flesh, so very warm. Robert closes his eyes as he leans into the touch, nearly purring as a cat would, and he takes hold of Bill's wrist with a gloved hand.

The boy sits up on the car's hood, still so very small compared to the clown, and scoots closer. Bill kisses him then, refusing to let Robert feel guilty about anything at all and the boy firmly believing that neither one of them had anything to feel guilty about in the first place. Robert was quite sure he could not sway Bill from that line of thinking, either, as the boy had always been determined. Or stubborn. He never knew the difference. Regardless, he returns the kiss tenfold, a flurry of emotions bubbling inside of him as those claws relented their onslaught against his insides. If only for a moment.

Bill kisses him, mouth sliding against his own and he reaches up to wrap his arms around the clown's neck, letting go of his shirt and Robert has to shove down the smug feeling he gets when he sees his marks littering Bill's chest and even his stomach. Bill sighs into the kiss and promptly pouts when Robert pulls away, a strange little smile on his painted face as he brushes his fingers along Bill's bangs.

"I'll be back in a moment. Let me pull the car around."

Bill watches him climb off the hood of the car, that same dopey, moony smile on his face. Yet he tilts his curiously and he swears, he honestly swears, that for a moment he thought Robert's eyes had gone wide and his lips had quivered and his entire body shuddered the very instant he had gotten into the car and the door had shut behind him. He quickly slides off the car's hood, still smiling. As the car drives itself away, Bill misses how Robert clamps both gloved hands onto his stomach, in pain. Bill steps out of the car's way when it drives forward, unaware of the fact that Robert's foot wasn't touching the gas pedal and the car was driving itself. He doesn't miss the upbeat music of Michael Jackson's _Smooth Criminal_ being played on the radio. He mostly just hears the repeated question, "Are you okay?"

Once the car is out of the boy's line of sight, Robert grunts and groans, pressing both hands to his stomach as though he's been punched in it by a being as strong, if not stronger, than he was or he's about to puke or even both, in that order. He presses his forehead against the steering wheel, letting out a yell of anger and pain as he bends his upper body, as though about to start retching.

"No, I am not okay!" he snaps at the car, the music mostly drowning out his voice. "Nothing about this is okay!"

His back turns rigid and he dry heaves as the car pulls out onto the street, yellowing eyes nearly bulging out of his head as he presses a gloved hand to his mouth. His shoulders wrack with movement and then he's coughing and spewing into his own hand, soiling his white glove with _red_.

He stares at the scarlet liquid, his own blood, in his palm with an unsettled feeling. He knows what the cause is, of course, just as he needs to find something -- some _one_ \-- to eat. And fast. He grimaces, murmuring to himself;

"Oh, that's not good."

Bill, oblivious to the clown's predicament, smiles as he rests the back of his head against the building behind him. Then his back. He smiles, wide and bordering a dazed grin, closing his eyes as he slides down the wall until he's sitting on the ground, a pleasant feeling running along every inch of his skin, as though he was being massaged.

His lips are still tingling from Robert's kisses. He lets go of his shirt to hold each side open with both hands, looking down at his chest and seeing the red lipstick marks smudged all along his pale skin, not at all in the shape of lips and it makes his insides do somersaults as he spots the beginnings of love bites forming.

He closes his shirt, buttoning it slowly with that same dazed smile. Forget weird and forget taboo. He was _happy_. He hadn't been happy in a long time. Not since October. Not since he nearly lost his little brother alongside his mom, the boy knowing that had Robert not been there to get Georgie's boat, his little brother could've been swept away into the storm drain by the October storm. Or, even worse, if Robert hadn't been there and Georgie hadn't raced right home after, his little brother could've ended up kidnapped. Perhaps even by the clown, if he had been a bastard instead of Bill's friend.

Bill knew, with all of his heart, that Robert was something so good in this dark world. A friend, but more.

He didn't give a shit about what people thought. He just found it funny, that everyone made up those dumb rumors about him "trading favors" with the ringleader of the circus, and that Bill was the "real reason" why Georgie Denbrough was the first kid in all of Derry to get his doll for the circus, and they weren't true at all and here he was now, kissing Robert on the hood of the man's 1958 Plymouth Fury on the Fourth of July. He presses his fingers to his lips once his shirt is button back up, though wrinkled and he had forgone the first two buttons.

Even though it was the Fourth of July, it felt so very hot.

Fuck the age difference, Bill thought. Fuck the fact that he was 13 and Robert was 20, give or take. Fuck all of that. He was _happy_. Happier than he'd been in months. He wasn't dumb, he knew nobody except himself and Robert could know, but maybe he liked the secrecy. Maybe he liked having something kept to himself that nobody else knew about, something so wonderful that nobody else had.

It wasn't selfishness, Bill being far from selfish, everyone knew, and he would drop everything for his friends and his little brother if it came down to it, Robert as well now, and he was so happy. The town and its people had made him miserable for so many years, ever since he started school and Bowers had decided to make him one of his many human punching bags. And even worse when his mom left their family. Bill would not be shamed for being happy.

It was strange, how he felt. He know about how girls giggled and gossiped about how other girls "like, liked" somebody, but this was more than that. This wasn't some dumb little crush, like he thought he had on Beverly that day they had technically "met" her and when they'd met Ben in the Barrens. She had been so pretty when she walked towards him, the sun shining and making her appear like summer's fire. Her eyes so very blue, like summer's sky, and her lips painted prettily with pink.

He, like the rest of the Losers, had been gawking at her when she dropped her dress at the quarry for the first time. He, like most of the Losers, had gawked once again when Robert had stripped down to only a pair of boxers. He had looked between Beverly and Robert that day, unsure of which one he liked more, before his eyes had settled on Robert. He...

... liked the clown.

He really liked him.

Robert was not selfish. He was not cruel. He was kind and caring, because how many people really would've helped that little turtle and shooed away that crow? Most of the kids Bill knew would've sooner stomped on the entire nest before the turtles had a chance to even hatch, or would've fed them to the crows themselves. How many adults would've told Connor Bowers to "fuck off" and leave Bill alone. How many more would have blatantly threatened to kill him if he ever tried starting shit with Bill, Georgie, and Roberta again?

Not only that, but how many circuses were free the way his was? And how many more circus ringleaders would so kindly, respectfully, treat the animals the way he did? He was kind, he was generous, honest to a point and Bill could understand because obviously Robert had seen some dark shit in his life, and he knew how to make people smile. And no matter what, who you were or what you had done, Robert could see the good in people.

Not many people would have given Henry that bowl of gumbo yesterday. Even fewer would've invited the boy to Mike's birthday party at all. Robert was just so good like that.

And when Bill was with him, he didn't feel so alone anymore. He had his friends, he had the Losers Club, and his brother, but it just wasn't the same. Bill had been scared of a lot of things in his life, mostly his bullies, but then his dad turned scary after the nasty divorce, and he still worried about his as well as Georgie's futures. It was just a constant thing, living with some sort of fear. When he was with Robert, he didn't feel scared anymore. He felt like he would be safe, no matter what.

He just hoped that one day, he could repay Robert for everything he's done. Nobody would have given Bill that typewriter just because they could and because they wanted to see Bill be successful in life, nobody would've saved Georgie's boat just to be kind, nobody would've let Bill drive such an awesome car, and nobody, absolutely nobody else in the world, would've let Bill pet a 500 pound tiger like it was a housecat instead of a beast capable of ripping a man apart in seconds. Nobody was... as good... as Robert.

And Bill honestly didn't want to imagine a future without him.

It just didn't... make any sense to him.

Friendship or not, something more or not (though Bill had hope), as long as Robert was with him, Bill wasn't afraid.

That thought in mind, he smiles as he stands up, heading for the sidewalk, that same smile on his face. He doesn't even bother to wipe the lipstick off his face, either too dazed to remember that it's there, or he wants everyone to question it. Most would assume it came from a girl who wore red lipstick. Very few would assume it was... not that.

Bill smiles as he sees Georgie playing with the sparklers with Johnny, knowing his little brother was set for the night. Eddie and Richie were nowhere in sight and he guesses easily then that he and Robert weren't the only one who saw "skyrockets" tonight. He briefly wonders about Ben and Beverly, before shrugging it off. He doesn't see Stan or Mike and he doesn't worry. He walks down the sidewalk, that same smile on his face. He misses the fact that he's being followed.

Not by one.

Not by two.

Not even three or four.

But by five older boys.

Bill stops walking when he does feel eyes on his person.

It isn't as cold and unsettling as when he first entered Neibolt, but it does leave an uneasy feeling rising in his stomach. He doesn't stop walking but he does turn his head to see two older boys walking a distance behind him, and he doesn't miss the fact that their eyes are indeed on him. He also doesn't miss how the one smiles all the more nastily when he realizes that Bill has caught on.

He speeds up, swallowing as he looks away and keeps his head down. He feels the hairs on the back of his neck prickle when another kid, about the same age as the first two, walks out of the alley. Another pair of boys steps forward.

Five to one.

He tries to walk past the one boy when he approaches, but a beefy hand reaches out and grabs his arm. Thankfully, not the injured one.

"Hey, hey, hey, whoa, whoa, hey," the boy says, grinning nastily. "Where you off to in such a rush, huh?"

Bill doesn't even have a chance to yank his arm out of the boy's grasp before the other four are circling him, almost like vultures, and they're poking and prodding at him as they stick their faces too close to his own, a couple even having the nerve to pucker their lips and make kissy faces at him. He swats the hands away, trying to push through but they're blocking off every exit. His stomach seems to fall into his shoes as he looks for someone for help, but only spots an old man as he feels large, meaty hands on his shoulders and a hand grabbing his face.

It's nearly identical to Beverly being cornered by Henry and Belch and Vic and even Patrick, though Bill doesn't know about that. Not yet, anyways. There are older, bigger, and far more dangerous boys circling him, holding onto him and blocking any chances of escape. All of them are easily a hundred pounds bigger, and every one of them is using their weight to keep Bill in place. They're all eyeing him nastily, sharing equally foul and knowing grins and Bill grimaces at the foulness of their breath. Stinking of cigarettes, smoky and putrid, and alcohol, sharp and gross.

He looks to the old man who stares at them with a bit of worry in his eye, but when one of the older boys looks where Bill is, he gives the old man a warning glance. Bill watches with wide eyes and a pounding heart as the old man walks the other way, turning a blind eye to it. His heart drops into his shoes with his stomach

He squirms as hands start to grope at him. His arms, his chest, his legs, his face and...

"S-St-Stuh-Stop," Bill tells the older boy, who grabs his chin, holding it in his hand. "D-D-Duh-Don't t-tuh-touch m-m-muh-me."

"All I heard was 'T-Tuh-Touch M-M-M-M-Muh-Me'," one of the boys says, stuttering mockingly and laughing stupidly at the end.

"That's all I heard, too," the boy holding Bill's face says, still grinning.

He doesn't recognize them, but he knows from their heights and bits of facial hair that they're all high school kids. Older than Bowers, Belch, and Vic, but not by much.

"You're cute," another voice coos in his ear, Bill jerking away, disgust on his face as he grimaces from the foul smell of cheap booze and cigarettes.

"S-St-Stuh-Stop," Bill tells them.

Not a single one listens, not like Robert would, and his hands grow clammy as he feels a hand on his shirt, a hand teasingly running along the back of his neck. It feels like a large insect is crawling along his flesh, unpleasant.

"Stop," Bill repeats, eyes wide with fear and desperation.

"Hey, look at that," the boy says, grinning. "No stutter. You're B-B-B-Buh-Billy Boy, aren't you?"

"N-N-Nuh-No," Bill lies, trying to shove the boy back but he may as well have been trying to shove a brick wall. "L-L-Luh-Let guh-go."

"Who you been hanging around with tonight, huh?" the boy asks, pressing his thumb against Bill's lower lip. The boy wants so badly to bite it clean off. "Red lipstick. Slutty."

They giggle and laugh at him, poking at his face with meaty fingers and putting their hands where Bill doesn't want them, no matter how many times he shoves them back and smacks at their hands, repeating "Stop" and "Let go" over and over again. His insides twist into knots as he tries to look for any sight of white and red. Robert or the car.

"Not Beaver-ly Marsh, surely," the boy says, sneering.

"G-Guh-Get off me," Bill repeats, firmly as he tries to shove past the boy but he shoves him back into his friend, the fattest of the lot, who holds his arms underneath Bill's to hold him still, holding the smaller boy's arms behind his back. He's about to start screaming profanities, maybe even lash out and kick, but the words the first boy says make him grow cold;

"Hold your tongue or your brother loses his," the boy who held his face, who Bill guesses is the leader of this little group, warns him.

That makes every muscle in his body turn colder than stone, colder than ice.

"F-Fuh-Fuck you!" Bill snaps, kicking the next boy that comes to close.

He had been aiming for crotch, but hits a fat stomach instead. He doesn't take satisfaction in the pained groan that erupts, too busy trying to scramble away to no avail.

"Don't mind if I do," the boy tells Bill, hands going to his buckle and fly. Bill's eyes pop, the boy's struggles increasing tenfold. "I'll be way better than any trashcan whore you've got, Denbrough. You've got one good use for that mouth left, I'll really show you how to use it."

More nasty giggles as the clink of the boy's belt echoes in Bill's ears.

He lashes out, throwing his entire body into the boy holding him before kicking another straight into the nuts. The sounds of thudding and pained yells are drowned out completely by screeching tires and the blasting of AC/DC. The fat boy lets go of Bill and scrambles back along with his friends, the other one quickly redoing his belt buckle as Bill watches with relief as the Plymouth screeches towards him. He doesn't even wait for Robert to get out of the driver's seat before he's darting for the passenger's side.

"Get in the car," Robert's voice tells him.

It mostly soothes Bill's nerves than it does anything else.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, what's this?" the boy asks, walking up on Robert. "One freak with lipstick all over his face and another with his lipstick smudged? You --"

Whatever he was about to say was drowned out by the look Robert gives him.

A scowl.

But more than.

Something beyond vicious.

Furious.

Dangerous.

More than just "pissed off" or even "protective" and the boy even backs away, along with his friends, when he sees how the clown's eyes change.

Yellow, seemingly glinting under the streetlights, becomes scarlet within seconds.

Robert sneers at the pungent and foul smells, clearly cheap garbage.

Booze.

As well as something putrid and smoky.

Cigarettes.

He is partially to blame, he knows, because he left Bill alone but the boy had every right to walk in this town without being harassed. There had been nobody else to protect Bill from these boys. And if Pennywise was still running the show, uncaring of who got hurt, Robert hadn't a doubt that things would've gotten very ugly, very fast. He could feel his rational thought seeping away from him as he smelled their fear.

Robert felt like a shark catching the smell of blood.

About to go into a frenzy.

A _feeding_ frenzy.

The five of them, drunk even though they're minors, and even more stupid than usual, were looking for some "fun" and maybe even a "good time" and while they had eyes on "skanky Beverly Marsh" they were really looking for "slutty Bill Denbrough" and that one makes him snarl, scaring the boys even further. He grits his teeth as another set of them starts to protrude out of his gums right behind the first set, which he has to force to retain their human appearance, the second set of teeth far sharper, far longer, and far more lethal than teeth should be.

Robert knows that the alcohol in their systems was currently pushing them to do things they wouldn't typically do. At least, Robert thinks darkly, a hint of savagery beginning to surface, not without the cover of the darkness and the lack of witnesses, the boy somehow scaring the old man into silence without Pennywise's influence, to hide their dark deeds.

If Robert wasn't... himself... then the five boys would think that the "creepy clown freak" was outnumbered and the "sweet piece of redhead ass" was open and willing. Free for the taking, and who would believe a slut anyway? No matter how young he was. Robert presses his lips together, the lipstick still smudged, to hide the further sharpening of that second set of teeth, trying to suppress the overwhelming urge to contort and expand his jaw into a monstrous form and throw each of their mewling, screaming bodies into a fang-lined maw and end their lives with one swift bite.

To go in for the kill.

And to think he was going to go after Butch tonight...

Filled with booze and acting stupid, their little leader tries to square up on Robert and he grumbles suddenly, shaking his head, the silver bells jingling and he can feel a monstrous roar, akin to the same unearthly bellow he once let out before in that old life alongside a monster's screech rising to the surface, daring to break free. He forces it down, ignoring the pains in his stomach and under his scar, the beasts inside of him, that were him, roaring at him to attack and to kill.

For in another life where the clown, Pennywise or Robert, whichever or whatever, didn't _love_ Bill Denbrough beyond words, things surely would have taken a darker turn. Or perhaps they never would've happened at all. It was hard to say. His point was, Pennywise certainly wouldn't have helped Bill out of this situation or would have only have done so do get a meal for itself. In that old life, Bill would've been on his own. Robert, on the other hand, in this life, would have saved anyone and everyone regardless, but the fact that it was Bill?

 _His_ Bill?

His _Billy_?

The urges became _raw_.

 ** _Feral_**.

His pupils overtake his irises, like a shark's.

"What's up your ass, huh?" one of them asks, taking a puff of his cigarette.

This was not a sandwich, Robert promised himself then. It would be a work of fucking art.

Eyes glow in the darkness, the headlights of the car as well as the clown's.

The five of them back away, their fear overtaking the "pleasant buzz" they were all feeling, and one of them even obtains a damp spot on the front of his jeans, when they look into the clown's eyes.

Black as the night, like a shark in a frenzy.

Hungry as any predator.

Any beast.

A _monster_.

Yet crimson peeks through, forming into irises.

It takes everything the clown has in It not to let out an earth-shattering roar, the cry of an alpha protecting its mate, that of a beastly thing, as he glares at the brats who dared try and put their hands on Bill.

 _His_ Bill.

"What the fuck are you?" the leader asks meekly, voicing his fear.

The clown grins.

A demented, absolutely wicked grin as his eyes become otherworldly orange, teeth sharpening before their very eyes, and they knew, even drunk, that there was more than one set of teeth in that oversized, monstrously huge mouth the clown was suddenly sporting, as though the bones in his face could stretch to his will.

"I?" Robert asks, not looking any of them in the eyes as he speaks in a whisper. He doesn't want any of them dying too early in the hunt, or becoming catatonic. He doesn't want his fun spoiled yet. "What am I?" He stretches his lips into the smile, that of an evil clown. "I am the Eater of Worlds, you little shits. And no matter what any of you would have done for the rest of your worthless lives, you would have always remembered that every single one of you is less than garbage."

Robert lets out a sudden mad laugh akin to a Doberman Pinscher's bark. Or perhaps a bark that of a Rottweiler.

"I am every nightmare you little shits will ever have! I am your worst fucking dreams come true! I am everything you brats ever were afraid of!" He snarls, the octave just shy of monstrous. "And nobody touches _my **mate**_!"

They run then because of his voice above all, not even the fact that his eyes are two swirling orbs of orange coloring in his head, every last fang from every set of teeth bared. It isn't even his words that make the brats shake with icy cold fear and piss themselves in terror.

The clown's voice was not that of a human being, male or female.

It was not the voice of anything of this earth.

Or of any Hell known to mankind and not.

It was --

It...

 _ **It**_.

Robert smiles, the alpha in him rumbling with sinister amusement as well as smugness in knowing it defended its mate, the beast in him longing for a hunt as his stomach flares with pain alongside his scar. The clown giggles madly, so sinfully, so very wickedly. Beyond twisted. And to think that both Freddy and Chucky had the balls to say he lost his edge, that he had gone so very green.

"Oh, I'm _back_ , baby."

Yet otherworldly orange becomes starlight blue as Robert remembers that Bill is still watching him. He has not heard a single thing the clown has said to those boys, as the car was blasting AC/DC's "Girls Got Rhythm" and every time Bill tried to lower the volume to listen, the car would turn itself back up. The clown knows it's partially because she honestly thought that he would kill those boys.

He knows that if not Bill tonight, then someone else tonight or any other night. Possibly even Beverly. He knows those boys will not cause trouble for a while, scared into silence, the way Robert liked his prey, and yet his pangs of hunger do not fade away even though soon enough, he will kill five people for nearly touching Bill.

Some might call it petty, but he was the same clown who, in another life, just recently killed six Cenobites for making a nasty comment to his version of Bill.

Oh, the carnage he will bring...

Clowns didn't go green. Growing soft for Bill didn't make the clown any less of a monster who could rip heads off in the blink of an eye. If anything, his protectiveness had been strengthened by the boy. Bill gave Robert strength when it came to matters like that. Not that the boy knew that, and he could probably never know.

He sighs as he turns around and gets into the car.

Yet he grips the steering wheel to the point that he feels the metal bending as he fakes driving away, the tires screeching even though his foot isn't touching the pedal. The clown isn't the only one mad at the fact that once again, Bill was nearly hurt, and if the way she screeches and leaves behind marks on the street underneath her tires ways anything to go by, she was having the same murderous thoughts as the clown.

It didn't help, either, that the sweet aroma of fear was filling the car in seconds, to the point that the car had to roll down the driver's window as well as the passenger's window. And then both back windows. Yet it did no good, it helped nothing at all. And the clown floors it, gripping the steering wheel to the point that the metal began to creak and bend.

And nearly break.

"Oh! Oh!" Bill yelps, grabbing onto his seatbelt when the car picks up speed, swerving into the lane and Bill can hear another car honking. "Okay! M-M-Muh-Maybe you should sl-sluh-slow down?!"

Robert snarls, eyes flashing.

He smacks a gloved hand against the steering wheel, vaguely apologetic about the dent..

"I should go back there," he snarls. "And rip their fucking heads off."

"No, no, no, you should not do that," Bill says, clicking the seatbelt into the latch, his eyes wide with shock. "No. No. No."

"You... you aren't stupid," Robert says through gritted teeth. "The sick and twisted shit those little pukes were thinking." He growls through his teeth, the sound reverberating through his chest, though he forces down the monster's bellow that wants to break free. And for that, blood stains his teeth. "I should go back there and --"

"No!"

"They fucking put their hands on you!" Robert snaps. "I've had it with that! People thinking they can just destroy other people's lives! Take whatever they want with little to no disregard for --"

He stops himself, trying not to think about that night. He did not regret killing Patrick Hockstetter. He never had, and he never will.

But he does regret taking the many lives he has over the centuries, ruining even more.

In both of his lives.

"Talk to me about something else. Distract me. Or I will --"

"Will what?" Bill asks, not even stuttering. "You're going to _kill_ them? They're just dumb kids!"

"Oh, gladly," Robert spits. "And dumb or not, they knew what they were doing. What they were going to --"

Bill scoffs, not believing it.

"You'd _kill_ five people just because they tried to start sh-shit with m-m-muh-me? _Me_?"

"I'd kill _six_ people just for _looking_ at you the wrong way," Robert spits.

It frightens Bill that he can hear the honesty in that statement. Robert nearly gags at the smell as talons form in his boots and blood wells in the back of his mouth.

"Talk to me... just... something else... please..."

Bill looks away.

"Um... um... tell me a story," he says quickly, his eyes darting to Robert's painted face. "About you. Or s-suh-sing suh-song again."

Robert twitches and frowns as he realizes who and what those brats reminded him of. Of who Bill, tonight, reminded him of, though Robert didn't really give a shit about that kid back then. He gave a shit now, however, about Bill. And if he was still in Derry 27 years down the road, he'd do it all over again... He lowers his eyes, realizing what he had done. How he had scared Bill... and he remembers those two young men, young and in love, beaten brutally just because they loved each other... The car, sensing the clown's shift in emotion, pulls over, Bill thinking it was Robert's doing, and it pulls off the side of the road as the clown's lips quiver into a frown and a trembling sigh.

The car pulls over, Bill thinking it was Robert doing it, and he pulls off the side of the road, frowning. The car drives further into the trees, towards the Barrens, mostly to get away from any onlookers.

"W-W-Wuh-Why'd you stuh-stop?" Bill asks, his heart racing.

Though he does feel relieved, because he thinks it means Robert likely won't go after those boys and do something he may or may not regret.

"Adrian Mellon," Robert says softly.

"Huh-Who?" Bill asks, confused and curious by the new name.

It sounds vaguely familiar, sure, but he's never heard of anyone by that name let alone met them.

"He was... just a kid..." Robert says, his eyes downcast and sad. "His boyfriend, Don Hagarty, was about to move with him to New York. They were going to get out of the shitty town Don grew up in and... it was a summer, a nice one, and they were at the fair. His heart was so good, he even gave a little girl he didn't know the prize he'd just won, making her so happy. He didn't even know that the one little act of kindness was the most she'd ever seen, all because she had a weird birthmark on her face," Robert tells him. "And they kissed, in public, after Don gave him a little beaver hat." He scowls.

"Some little shithead spit at their feet and got his friends involved. Homophobic, of course. And Adrian... well, he was never really one to back down from a fight. It was good, as it was bad. He pushed too far and once the two of them were far away enough from the fair, far from any witnesses, their group of four attacked. The three men broke Don's nose and beat the hell out of Adrian. They... they kicked away his fucking inhaler, all while this little piece of shit kid laughed and stole his stupid hat. Then..."

He shudders as he remembers, closing his eyes.

"They threw him over the bridge, beaver hat and all, and like the cowards they were, they ran for it."

Bill stares at him, eyes wide and horrified and upset.

"Don went after him, of course. But there were so many ways that Adrian could have died that night. He could have died from getting beaten... an asthma attack... he could've been killed from the impact of the fall alone, say if he hit something important or if the river hadn't been deep enough... He could've landed on his fucking neck for all they knew, or he could have drowned."

Robert opens his eyes, staring down at his hands.

"I had... I..."

Adrian Mellon was dead in her world as well as his twin's. Both had bitten his heart from his chest. Robert had nearly done the very same... but he didn't.

"I had saved Adrian, from drowning. He lived. I handed him to Don and he called the police. The paramedics showed up before the cops, of course," he says, scoffing. "The police... did not care that a gay couple had been beaten nearly to death."

Tears stream down Bill's cheeks. He quickly wipes them away.

"D-D-Did the m-m-muh-men and k-kuh-kid g-guh-get p-p-puh-punished?" he asks, whispering.

Robert snorts.

"No," he says. "Not by the police, anyway... I, uh... I... I made sure they never hurt anyone else like that ever again. Myself and another. It wasn't my idea, understand... it was his... he couldn't stand the fact that it was a gay bashing. And he couldn't stand the fact in knowing that they wouldn't have been punished in the slightest. God, you should have seen it... he gave back that asshole all he was due and then some..."

"Good."

He glances at Bill from the corner of his eye.

"B-B-Buh-But that's no r-ruh-reason to k-kuh-kill those g-guh-guys... s-suh-saying suh-something l-luh-like that and actually d-duh-doing it are t-tuh-two d-duh-different things," Bill says firmly, wiping his eyes on his hands. "I... I appreciate the offer b-b-buh-but it's not w-wuh-worth it. They're not worth it."

 _You the one that's worth it_ , Robert thinks. _And honestly_ , _you're telling this to the wrong guy_. _I've killed people for lesser reasons_. _They just died much more quickly_. _They tried to hurt **you**_... _You know_ , _on some level_ , _what happened to Patrick for that wasn't nearly as bad as you think_... _and God only knows what I'll do to your father once I get the chance_...

Robert does know that Bill wants those boys to be punished, but both the boy and the clown know that those brats will only get smacks on the asses for underage drinking and smoking. Robert also knows that Bill mostly wants them to face actual punishment because it nearly happened to him and the leader had the nerve to threaten Georgie, one of the most important people in Bill's young life. He also knows that Bill doesn't really want to think about what had been on those boys' minds, how they had looked at him and touched him, as Patrick did in the "dream". However, he also didn't want it to happen to someone else later down the road, someone who couldn't protect themselves or someone who didn't have a Robert.

That one makes his lips twitch and smile.

His heart was so big and pure like that. Bill cared for people in a way that Robert had once found stupid. For the only life that should matter was one's own, right? Why risk your own life for someone else? Someone who may not even be grateful for it? That was not Bill's way of thinking, however. And because of Bill, that old worldview of the clown's had changed. Robert no longer cared if people were grateful or not, for most people were selfish and cruel, the way he used to be.

He knows, too, that Bill is just worried about him. He doesn't want to get Robert into trouble for going after those boys.

"You kept your promise," Bill says softly, smiling. He doesn't even stutter. "You promised you'd protect me. You did."

"I did," Robert says. "They... they would've lost their hands... and their lives... had it gone farther. I should still --"

"You'd be the one to get in trouble," Bill says, not even stuttering. He sighs, scowling as his eyes turn misty. "I huh-hate it," he says, his voice cracking. "Everyone always treated m-m-muh-me l-luh-like shit b-b-buh-before the d-duh-divorce b-b-buh-but n-nuh-now?" Shredding pains surge through Robert's insides, nothing at all to do with his hunger, as he watches Bill's lower lip quiver and the boy starts to cry. "It's s-s-suh-so stupid and it's n-nuh-not f-fuh-fair. I n-nuh-never d-duh-did anything just because she --" he spits out that word, as though it was a foul taste upon his tongue, his thoughts on his mother, "-- did. B-B-Buh-But n-nuh-nobody l-l-luh-listens. They j-juh-just act l-luh-like the r-ruh-rumors are true just so they can h-huh-hurt p-p-people l-luh-like B-Bev and I."

Robert watches him, knowing that on some level, it was also his fault. It was but it wasn't, because he didn't influence Sharon Denbrough's infidelity and he still hasn't a clue where it came from, which was saying something as he knew everything and anything about everyone in Derry without even trying. Instead of taking Georgie that fateful day, he had let him go with the very first doll he had ever made with the promises of fun at a circus that was coming to town. Some idiot, most likely Gretta or even Henry, put two and two together, incorrectly, and falsely deduced that Bill was somehow responsible for Georgie getting the doll even though that was stupid when you considered Bill's age as well as the fact that Robert, in this life, never "met" Bill until just recently.

"I'm sorry, Bill," Robert says, sighing. "I... If I could make it all go away, I would. If I could take you from here, I would."

Bill sniffles as he wipes his eyes, smiling.

"W-Wuh-Where w-wuh-would y-yuh-you t-tuh-take m-m-muh-me?" he asks, whispering.

Robert's smile is sincere as he looks at the beautiful boy before him.

"Anywhere you'd like. New York, like Adrian or Don. Maybe even Chicago. We could visit New Orleans with Leroy and Mike if you wanted. Anywhere you want," Robert tells him, thinking of how he had saved that boy. The clown remembers Adrian Mellon and Don Hagarty, but eventually they both forgot about the man dressed as a clown that had saved Adrian's life. They remembered the bashing, until their dying days in that old life, and Adrian could just barely remember that he had been saved, by someone who wasn't Don, but he couldn't remember who. And that made him feel sad in ways he knows were silly. It did him no good to dwell, after all. "We could go anyplace you could think of. In the States and not. I'd take you to Wonderland if I could," Bill smiles at that. "There is more to life than a creepy, potentially cursed town somewhere in Maine."

"Tell that to Stephen King," Bill says, smiling as he doesn't even stutter. "I w-wuh-won't f-fuh-forget, you know. About t-tonight."

"I'd rather you did," Robert tells him. "It... I see the way people look at you, the same way they look at Beverly. Most look at her as though she's garbage, or less than, even though in the back of their minds they know the rumors are bullshit. And when they look at you, they see an easy lay." He fidgets, twitching. "I... I hate it. I hate seeing how the people in this town... just so callously toss aside the rare gifts their given. How they mistreat and abuse their own children... this town is full of monsters. They make movies out of supernatural monsters now... a few years down the road? The monsters of horror movies will be the people themselves. Because it's _true_."

"I can s-suh-see that," Bill murmurs.

He bites his lip as his cheeks turn pink. He undoes his belt as the car comes to a stop, deep within the junkyard. Old cars, busted down and stripped for their parts, surround them almost like the scene from _Nightmare on Elm Street 3_ , only there was no dream demon. At the moment, that is. Bill looks around the junkyard with a funny expression, as though he can't understand why Robert would come here of all places.

"It's peaceful," Robert tells him. "No people. I used to come here, all the time, and just think." He doesn't tell him what he used to think about, of course. "And it was peaceful. I... I..."

He lowers his eyes, unsure.

"I wasn't a good... person, Bill. You and Cheryl, Georgie and Beverly, the rest of the Losers Club... you all think I'm some great and fantastic person, someone so sweet and kind and generous, but it wasn't always like that and I still have a hard time believing I've gone this green," he tells him. "Sometimes I get sad when I think of the way I used to be, because I _miss_ it. I miss how _simple_ life was back then. I... did my part, really. I... I used to be something."

"You still are," Bill says, confused. "S-Suh-So, w-wuh-what? You were an asshole as a k-kuh-kid?"

"You could say that," Robert says softly as he remembers. "I... I was a bastard, to put it simply. The things I did... the things I've seen... the things I've wrought... and it used to _amuse_ me, how badly I used to _hurt_ people. You all think I'm so kind and generous, so thoughtful and honest, but I wasn't always this way. It took a near death experience for that to stop, and even then it nearly didn't," Robert says, grimacing as his scar sears with pain. "And when I see you, I see this big ball of light in a dark little town, shining so brightly, and the world just tries to snuff it. They see any little ray of sunshine, a bit of happiness that they can't have for themselves, and they destroy it. I used to be that person who wasn't happy."

"M-M-Muh-Maybe," Bill says, surprised by the revelation but understanding. Somehow, it just fit Robert's character. He wasn't sure how, it just did. In this world of madness they lived in, of chaos and confusion, it made _sense_. "B-Buh-But y-yuh-you d-duh-didn't d-duh-die and y-yuh-you stuh-stopped b-b-buh-being that w-wuh-way. Y-Yuh-You're n-nuh-nice n-nuh-now and even though you can't ch-change w-wuh-what you duh-did b-buh-before, you can still b-buh-be h-huh-happy in the f-fuh-future."

"You don't even know the things I've done, Bill," Robert tells him. "The people who..."

"Duh-Doesn't m-m-muh-matter. Y-Yuh-You f-fuh-feel s-suh-sorry for all of that, d-duh-don't you? Y-Yuh-You m-muh-mean it. J-Juh-Just b-buh-because y-yuh-you did b-buh-bad things as a k-kuh-kid --" Robert rolls his eyes at the term, "-- duh-doesn't m-muh-mean you d-duh-don't d-duh-deserve to be happy now."

Bill's eyes lower as he smiles.

Boyish and shy.

Sweet and serene.

"And y-yuh-you're suh-so g-guh-good t-tuh-to the k-kuh-kids in this town and n-nuh-not b-buh-because y-yuh-you wuh-want suh-something," Bill says. "I think y-yuh-you're suh-so n-nuh-nice to the k-kuh-kids huh-who g-guh-get d-duh-dealt shitty h-huh-hands b-buh-because they r-ruh-remind you of yourself."

Do they? Robert muses. Did they remind him of himself?

The Losers, in all worlds, were exactly that. Losers. Nobody wanted anything to do with them except themselves. Nobody wanted to be friends with the "Stuttering Freak", Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier, Eddie "Wheezy" Kaspbrak (or Girly Boy), or the Jew. Nobody wanted to be friends with the Fat Ass just as nobody wanted to be friends with the Slut. And nobody wanted to be friends with the Homeschool kid.

"I guess you Losers do remind me of myself," Robert says, scoffing as he smiles. How had he never seen it before? "Shardik and Maturin... Gan and Garuda... Aslan and the rest of them... I guess you could say they were the popular lot... and my kin and I got jack shit other than hurtful names and being outcasts. But we didn't have each others' backs the same way you do. We only gave a shit about ourselves... although she did have babies later down the road."

"Oh... s-suh-so you're an uncle?"

"I would have been," Robert says sadly, closing his eyes.

He twitches and flinches as he remembers the screaming.

How afraid the newborns had been...

... of the _monster_.

And how she had _pleaded_ with Bill, bargaining for her very life...

How Ben had even felt guilt, just for a moment, before going on.

Nobody considered a monster's death to be murder, after all.

Not even a little one's.

Bill stares, his eyes widening in horror.

"Oh... oh... I'm s-suh-so sorry," Bill says sincerely. "It w-wuh-wasn't..."

"It was a long time ago," Robert says. "It's always been me. I've always had to watch out for myself. I filled my own stomach, slept and repeated. The same as Bob Gray. Maybe that's why I sought him out, too. He had to take care of himself and he came to this country with 14 dollars in his pocket, refusing to ask for handouts from anyone. He was so good even though everyone treated him like shit just because his face was a little different. He found a home with the circus freaks, and loved his daughter more than anything else in the world. I wish I could be more like him... but I'm just not built like that."

"Y-Yuh-You're still g-guh-good. N-Nuh-Not everyone g-gruh-grows out of b-buh-being a j-juh-jerk. You did."

Bill looks away even as he smiles to himself. Robert knows what he's going to do before he does it, and yet he still lifts his arms up so that Bill can lay his upper body and his head on the clown's lap, legs curled up on the passenger seat and his body stretched across the front of the car. He rests an arm on Bill's side, mindful of the slashes on his hip, and doesn't miss how Bill lies on his back rather than his arm, clearly mindful of the slashes on his bicep.

Both are healing, rather well, and Robert can only hope they won't scar or will at least stretch and fade as Bill grows up. He feels a sting in his heart at the idea of it, of Bill growing up and leaving him behind, but he knows it's for the best. He supposes, too, that under Bill's scars, the boy will remember him. Under Bill's scars is where Robert's memory will live, he knows.

Blue eyes look up at him, shining so prettily.

"I don't recall saying you could lay on me," Robert says, smiling.

"I d-duh-don't r-ruh-recall asking," Bill says, also smiling even though his cheeks are burning. He takes hold of a gloved hand with both of his own and rests it on his stomach. "W-Wuh-Will you s-suh-sing to m-m-muh-me? That s-suh-song is b-b-buh-buh-beautiful."

Robert holds his little hands in his own gloved ones, seeing the truly beautiful creature that lie underneath the mask that of a young boy. He was but a powerful weapon, jagged and imperfect, but everlasting. And Robert watches as Bill starts to fall asleep in his embrace as he sings, his eyes glowing orange.

He sings the song of the circus.

The song of his lights, cold and dead.

Unearthly and otherworldly.

The song of It.

There are words on the tip of Bill's tongue, three to be precise, four if you counted Robert's name at the end, but they're nearly lost as Bill barely even whispers them, falling asleep in the clown's embrace as the car's engine hums, like a lullaby for the boy (though, in his sleepy opinion, nowhere near as wonderful and lovely as Robert's lullaby) and the clown is unsure if he should depart if only to go after the brats that dared lay their hands on Bill. They were dead already, he knew, and would soon breathe their lasts, but he wanted to cherish this moment he had with Bill, some childish part of the clown wishing it could last forever.

It could not.

This life being changed so profoundly, but a variation of a life that once was and can never be again, a new life or not, the clown was still the monster of Derry's dark heart. He was not the true monster, per say, of the story, and he certainly was not the worst of all the monsters out there, but he was still a beast. Yet he runs his fingers through the soft locks of Bill's hair as he thinks, an internal debate waging war on itself in his mind.

He hasn't a doubt that like Adrian Mellon and Don Hagarty, Victoria Fuller and Lisa Albrecht, Bill in this life will eventually forget about him, whether or not the clown lives or dies at the end of this rather woeful tale. He would like to think that, maybe 27 years from now, Bill would remember him, if only for the summer of 2016. And perhaps maybe towards the end, Bill would remember him one last time. Maybe, just maybe, too, the clown would find his happily ever after. Yet as he gazes upon Bill's face, running his fingers along the boy's cheek during this peaceful moment, he thinks that he might've already found it.

Bill slumbers away as the clown looks up at the jet black sky, starlight blue eyes glinting under the twinkles of gemlike stars of a million miles away for humans. His mouth, the lipstick smudged, faintly resembling a red clown's smile, curves sorrowfully with an upwards tilt of his lips as he watches one star zoom across the sky in a flurry of pale colors, indigo, blue, and white, but a silver streak across the night's sky even though it had started to rain, just a bit. Bill, of course, was quite alike a shooting star in the rain, Robert thought.

And had Bill seen the shooting star, Robert knows he would have made a wish. It was considerably childish but that was what Bill was, mostly in this life. But a child. In that old life, and every other life, he along with his friends were children who had been forced to grow up too soon, and 27 years later, they were still somehow childlike if that made any sense. The clown knows these things, just as he knows that even though he wishes with every fiber of his being, willing it so, it can never be. It was just one of those things, like the dream of a child that would never come to life.

Yet Robert smiles, his eyes sad but his words true. Bill spoke those whispered words because he meant them, in his own way. He felt for Robert emotions he could not yet understand, because he considered him both a friend and something more. What Bill felt, Robert knew, was the feeling of how he could not simply do without Robert. Not because he was selfish, far from it actually, but because he loved Robert in that way. He loved him deeply, and both know the boy would be lost in this life without the clown now. Without his friend, or whatever you would call them.

Gloved fingers run through auburn locks, brushing the boy's bangs from his eyes. Under Robert's scar, the pain is gone as he tells Bill a secret, one he knows he must keep;

"I love you, too."

When Bill awakes, he knows not much time has passed. It was still dark out, dawn not even so much as a speckle on the horizon, and he blinks, yawning tiredly. His vision is blurry with sleep and he frowns when he realizes that he's covered by a warm blanket. He smiles, however, and leans into the touch when he realizes there's a cold, gloved hand running through his hair, massaging his scalp and fingers running along the back of his neck, sending pleasant tingles along his skin and shivers down his spine. He snuggles further into the touch, blinking away sleep as he gazes about his surroundings.

They're still in the junkyard, he sees. He's grateful, understand, and doesn't worry about his dad or anything else that might scare him in this town. He's content where he is, wondering if caterpillars were this warm when they encased themselves inside their chrysalises.

He's still on his back, draped across Robert's lap and the passenger seat, lounging almost like a cat. He shifts, looking up at the man and frowning with a bit of amusement as he sees that Robert's eyes are closed and he looks as though he's sleeping. Yet he still runs his fingers through Bill's hair, almost petting him.

Bill lowers his eyes as he remembers their foul touches, not at all sweet and comforting like Robert's were. The foul stenches of booze and cigarettes on their breath, even though all of them had been kids in high school, not much older than Bowers. He knows, without a doubt, that Robert still holds a grudge against them, a vendetta, and probably always will until he sees to it that they're punished by his sense of justice rather than Butch Bowers'. Bill could understand that, but he didn't want Robert to get into trouble.

He feels weak.

He knows that physically, he is. He was smaller than those boys, same as Patrick, and he might've gotten in a good hit or two, but he knows that in the end he would've been taken down, beaten into the dirt, and hurt beyond words. Had it not been for Robert. Yet he sniffles.

"Stop that."

He looks up at Robert, who has not yet opened his eyes, nor has he stopped running his fingers along Bill's scalp. It was soothing the clown's nerves more than it was Bill's, after all.

"W-Wuh-What?"

"Feeling guilty," Robert says. "You couldn't have taken those boys and it wouldn't have mattered even if I did beat the shit out of them until they pissed blood. I would've been the one in trouble for beating up minors. They would've gotten slaps on their asses for underage drinking and smoking, and you have nothing to feel sorry for."

"Still," Bill says quietly. "I... w-wuh-we could've taken them... m-m-muh-made sure they d-duh-didn't try it again w-wuh-with m-m-muh-me or anyone else."

"Nobody was taking anybody except me... and you wouldn't let me," Robert says. "You were in danger, I got you out of it. I have no regrets for that. And trust me, I scared them. They won't be causing any more trouble."

 _They'll be dead soon_ , _anyway_ , he thinks savagely, grimacing in pain as it wells inside of his stomach. It wants food _now_ , but he has to _wait_. He knows he has to. Bill is his first priority. No matter what. It will be a simple hunt, scaring the boys with the clown rather than anything else, because they were more scared of him than they were of getting into trouble or anything else in the world.

"Don't mistake tonight for cowardice, Bill," Robert says softly. "You are not a coward and you are not weak. You are so very brave, it's unreal... You'd sacrifice yourself to save your friends and your little brother... you'd jump into danger if it meant helping someone littler than you... and for that, you're one of the strongest people I know."

Bill's cheeks warm at the praise, his heart beating funnily.

"M-Muh-Most p-p-puh-people w-wuh-would c-cuh-call it stupid," Bill murmurs.

"Oh, I know. I used to be one of those people who thought risking your life for another was stupid. That only suicidal blockheads would do something like that," Robert says. "But I was wrong. If you don't try to save one life, you'll never save any."

Bill smiles at him, though the clown's earlier words come back to him.

"Huh-Who's suh-saving y-yuh-you?"

"What do you mean?"

"W-Wuh-Well, if y-yuh-you're always suh-saving everyone else... l-luh-like m-muh-me or even B-Buh-Bev and G-Guh-Georgie... who's suh-saving you?"

"I don't need saving," Robert says. "I've always looked out for myself. Among others like me, I was a loser. I was really the runt, now that I think about it. I'm too far gone anyhow. It's not me that needs saving."

"W-Wuh-Well, that's not true," Bill says. "And..." his cheeks bloom with red, almost like roses. "I'd save you."

Robert raises an eyebrow, though his eyes stay closed.

"N-Nuh-Not that I'd w-wuh-want y-yuh-you in d-duh-danger, obviously, b-buh-but if s-suh-something w-were to huh-happen... I'd save you."

"I know you would," Robert says softly. "I'd do the same. Over and over again until the world stopped spinning. I..." He smiles, soft and sincere. "Us Losers gotta stick together... right?"

"Y-Yuh-Yeah," Bill says, smiling.

He stares curiously up at Robert, who looks so very tired.

"Huh-Have you sluh-slept?"

"No," Robert says truthfully. "Not a wink."

"Huh-How l-luh-long huh-have w-wuh-we suh-sat huh-here?"

"No idea," Robert says.

Bill doesn't miss how Robert's voice had gone hoarse with those two words. Robert refused to tell Bill that his throat was feeling quite sore, as though he's been screaming for hours without end until his vocal cords became damaged and raw with pain. He feels exhausted. It isn't sudden, however. He knows it's because he came across those sweet scents of fear radiating off of Bill as well as the boys. Bill's fear of what the boys were planning on doing to him, and how the leader of their little crew had the balls to threaten Georgie of all people, and the boys' fear of the clown. He would let them stew on it, how "Creepo the Clown" scared them just by staring creepily at them and saying words their miniscule brains couldn't even begin to understand.

The clown is tired. Not so much that he's going to go to sleep for 27 years, or even to the point that he might be forced into an early hibernation, but more along the lines of someone who hasn't slept in a while and the stress of their surroundings was getting to them. Robert wasn't eating as much as he should have and had to wait a while longer yet, that was part of his stress, as well as his fear of not being able to save the kids. Bill most of all. That, and he was denying the beast what it wanted most in the world, in any world.

Its' mate.

He was dying, the longer he denied himself food as well as his mate.

The only rational thought he had was that he could not hurt Bill, could not scare him as he did in the car. He knows the boy had been frightened of his anger, not because he thought Robert would hurt him but because he honestly thought Robert would do a complete 180 and somebody would get run over. He did not miss, either, how Bill thought of the turkey and the squirrel in that scenario, only instead of a cute little woodland critter, he thought of the fat boy who held his arms behind his back getting run down like an animal. Oh, how Robert longed to do so, and knew the car would do exactly that.

Bill holds his hand, toying with gloved fingers.

"You're a good kisser," Bill says suddenly, without a stutter. His heart is beating unsteadily, and his stomach is jittery with nerves, but he says that statement so casually, as though it's the most normal sentence in the whole, wide world. "Really good, actually."

Robert doesn't know what to say.

A part of him is purring in delight, almost like a cat, or cooing like a bird, at Bill's soft spoken words.

"I know it's weird but... s-suh-seven years isn't so bad," Bill says shyly.

"It is," Robert says, "when one of us is thirteen."

Although numbers were miniscule. Robert was ageless, not that Bill knew that, not that anyone knew for that matter, and Bill would always be far younger than he was. Still, though, he didn't want to uproot Bill's life more than he already had, even though that part of him wanted to hold the boy in his arms forever and ever and even after that.

However, clowns didn't really get to live happily ever after.

Did they?

Bill sits up, reluctantly pulling himself out of his cocoon that Robert manifested for him after he fell asleep. He seats himself on Robert's lap, his legs on the outside of Robert's and his knees brushing against the outsides of strong thighs. He doesn't miss how Bill flushes, all the way up to his ears, at that. Bill reaches up from his blanket, letting it fall past his shoulders, and he cups the clown's face with each of his little hands, the flesh feeling so very warm to the touch.

Robert thinks of the night Patrick attacked him.

 _I never realized how truly warm the touch of living things are_ , Robert thinks. He smiles as he wraps his arms around Bill's waist, running his fingers along the length of Bill's hip, though he never presses down on the spots where he accidentally slashed him. _I'm glad his hands are warm and I hope they stay warm for many years to come_.

If Robert had breath, Bill would have stolen it away. Bill, even inexperienced, knows what he wants, and what he wants at that very moment is to be kissed as though it would be the last time, and as he wraps his arms around Robert's neck, whimpering into the clown's mouth as long arms hold him around the waist, Robert gives him exactly what he wants. As though it were the last time.

So open-mouthed and full of tongue.

Bill whines as Robert dominates the kiss, try as he may to keep up with the clown. He digs his fingers into those broad shoulders as Robert moves his hands to cup Bill's face. The kiss is incredibly wet and it makes Bill's belly stir in ways he's unfamiliar with, but not at the same time. Heat is humming pleasantly in his body as Robert continues kissing him, exploring his mouth with that tongue and even though Bill tries to push his tongue back, almost as though their wills are battling, he loses against the clown but doesn't care in the slightest.

And then the heat travels _down_.

A tent rises in his shorts as he jerks his hips forward, squeaking and panting into Robert's mouth and letting out a sharp noise when his crotch brushes against a hard stomach. His mind grew foggy, thick with hot mist, as he squirms, his face growing redder and redder by the second, redder than his hair, as Robert singlehandedly opened his mind to new possibilities...

... and his body to new feelings.

Rationality would've made the clown stop while he was ahead, but this was not a moment for sanity. With Bill, he was lost in a world of possibilities, a world of chances. A world of _hope_. The boy wasn't afraid anymore when he was with Robert, because he knew he had a friend who would always have his back and vice versa. But for Robert, when he was with Bill?

He had feared the Losers Club, once upon a time.

With Bill, he felt no fear.

Not anymore.

Bill isn't sure what makes him down it, but he reaches a hand down, sliding it along Robert's chest as he goes, and he reaches for the button of his shorts. It was mostly to relieve the pressure he felt down there, the strain on his crotch. He goes to undo the button, but a gloved hand grabs his wrist, startling Bill as he pulls out of the kiss, his chest heaving as he pants for breath, fogging up the car's windows.

Robert's eyes are different.

They're still starlight blue, so glittery and beautiful, but somehow more intense.

"Uh uh," Robert says, his voice low and husky, shy of teasing and wicked, a bit of a red glint in his eye that Bill somehow misses. "That's mine."

Bill's eyes widen with shock at the words.

"B-B-Buh-Bullshit," he whispers, reaching his other hand down.

He whines when Robert grabs that one, too, not letting him move. He jerks his hips forward, trying to rut against the older man's stomach. Just something, anything, to get friction even though he really wants to take his shorts off.

"It hurts," Bill says, so whiny and pouty.

So needy.

Starlight blue eyes nearly roll into the back of the clown's head.

The sweet smell of arousal, hot and feverish...

... stirring between Bill's legs.

He lets go of only one wrist and with his gloved hand, he takes hold of the boy's chin. He doesn't grip him to the point that it would hurt and even bruise, as his father started to do and the boy from earlier did. He simply holds Bill's chin with his thumb and index finger, his touch beyond gentle and far more tender. Loving, even.

Robert whispers, his voice low, blue eyes gleaming;

"Kiss me, Billy Boy."

He steals Bill's breath away, swallowing the needy whimper that bubbles straight from Bill's chest. He devours the sound. His gloved hand slides down Bill's chest as Bill beats his free hand against Robert's chest, sometimes smacking him with the palm of it and other times balling it into a fist. He slides his fingers into Bill's shirt, his mind not even with his body anymore, all rationality gone, the air of an alpha surrounding him, and he grins into the kiss when he feels the sharp squeak escaping the boy's swollen, lipstick stained lips. He teases the pebbling nipple, toying with it between his thumb and index finger before undoing another button on Bill's shirt.

The clown realizes then that Bill either forgot to button up the top two, or simply forwent them. He purrs, pleased, as he spots his marks along the boy's pale skin.

Bill pants and pouts, trying to thrust against the clown's stomach, his attempts to grind against that toned abdomen nothing short of sloppy and in Robert's opinion, cute. Bill cries out, breathless, and both of his hands fly into Robert's hair, gripping the soft locks to the point that it had to be pulling and it surely had to hurt, but both of Robert's hands simply cup him as they did earlier, his face disappearing into Bill's shirt as his lips sucked at Bill's flesh, at his sternum, and then...

Bill's eyes pop, almost like balloons.

"Oh! Oh!"

He arches his back as Robert sucks at a sensitive bud, his painted lips wrapping around it and Bill squeals at the feeling, the stirring in his belly becoming hot and heavy as his cock twitches inside of his underwear, straining against the fabric of his shorts. He reaches down with both hands to try and undo his shorts, if only to relieve the pressure, and he openly whines, as though scorned, when Robert snatches both of his wrists, keeping him still.

Robert's hair tickles his chin as he sucks at the spot and Bill is putty in his hands, panting and murmuring his needs as a thin sheet of sweat coats his skin. The windows of the car are foggy as Robert lifts Bill's hands back to his neck, not once stopping in his ministrations.

Suddenly, like a snake coiling in his belly, Bill could feel something coming. A tightening in his loins, hot pleasure overtaking him as he rutted sloppily against Robert's stomach, as though humping him like a puppy.

"Robert..."

The way his name is spoken, in such a needy, such a whiny, little tone, full of desperation, it does things to the clown.

"M-M-Muh-My... my stomach..." Bill murmurs, whimpering as Robert's gloved hand slides into his shirt, teasing the other nipple. Bill bites his lip, the act making the clown's eyes darken, as he keeps thrusting against that hard stomach. He can just barely hear the jingling of silver bells over his own panting. Bill sobs, "I... I can't..."

A wanton, strung out sound.

Robert isn't listening.

He will stop, no questions asked, if Bill says or even thinks, "No," or "Stop," but the clown hears neither words on Bill's lips or in his thoughts, so Robert suckles at the pebbled nub, well aware that red lipstick would be slathered over the boy's skin. Bill arches as Robert pinches and then twists one nipple while sucking the other one, and then Bill can feel _teeth_. His eyes almost bug out of his head as he cries out;

"Robert! ROBERT! I -- OOOOOOOH!"

Bill's toes curl, his fingers clenching into the starched ruff, as black and white dance, pop, and even explode like balloons and stars in his vision and he cries, nearly screaming, the sound high-pitched and prolonged, as he feels his cock twitching and then spurting into his underwear. His orgasm ripples through him, shaking him to his very core as he spasms, twisting and shuddering, as though seizing, a stream of stuttered profanities escaping past his lips as his back arches. He beats his fist against Robert's shoulder as his legs kick out, twitching and shaking, nearly kicking the car's stereo.

He shudders all over, still humping Robert sloppily, when he feels a hot and wet stickiness pooling in his underwear, soiling the fabric. Yet he collapses onto Robert, his breath shaky and heavy, as he basks in the afterglow, sweat beading down his temples and the back of his neck.

Robert lifts his head up, eyes flickering a rather alpha red as he blinks, bemusedly, before realization kicks in as his eyes widen. Their color shifts and distorts, morphing into a terrified green as he looks at Bill's flushed face, his glazed over eyes, and then the damp spot on the front of the boy's shorts.

Did he just --?

Did Bill just --?

Robert doesn't even have a chance to finish that thought before Bill is snuggling into him, starved for touch and attention. He's smiling despite the mess he's made of himself, clinging onto Robert's doublet as though he believes he'll tumble off the face of the earth if he lets go. Bill shifts, trying to get comfortable, all while Robert stares down at him, mutely, torn between feeling abject horror and satisfaction.

And so badly, so desperately, he wants to sink his teeth into the spot on the back of Bill's neck that the boy is baring to him, so willingly, and every urge inside of him becomes raw and feral, egging him on to bite the boy, truly mark him as his own and the fact that he can't...

He _can't_...

Robert claps a hand to his mouth, his stomach rumbling before his back is arching, Bill looking up at him with confusion and then worry. And then the boy feels the worst possible emotion to be feeling at the moment, especially when trapped in a car, its windows rolled up, with the clown.

"R-Ruh-Robert?"

He presses a hand to the clown's face just as a gloved hand reaches for the door handle, scrambling for it in a panic as his stomach rumbles hungrily, the stench of fear making his instincts rise to the surface (one instinct for hunger and the other for mating, both growing confused and then angry) even as he tries to force them down. He can taste copper in the back of his mouth and then --

He doesn't make it.

He dry heaves before he's spewing into his hand, cheeks bulging like a chipmunk's or a squirrel's and eyes screwed shut.

Not vomit.

Not bile.

Not even water.

But _blood_.

Thick and red, shining with life, Bill watching with dawning horror as Robert claps both hands to his mouth but it doesn't stop the flow of blood. It splashes into Robert's gloves, soiling the white fabric instantly, before splashing down onto the ruff and the front of the doublet. There isn't a whole lot, but it's enough to make Bill's heart start screaming as his own stomach drops into his shoes.

The clown sits in the front seat, spewing blood into his hands. It stops after only a moment, every nerve in his physical and metaphysical bodies feeling shot, as though they were lit on fire while being torn apart. As though he was being forced into an early hibernation, but he wasn't fortunate enough to actually be forced into a healing sleep. He grumbles as he lowers his hands from his mouth, Bill staring at him with mute horror as he watches Robert grimace at the sight of blood on his gloves.

His own, not even that of his prey.

He needs to eat, he knows.

Every instinct inside of him is screaming at him to have the meal before him, because Bill is terrified right now. The smell is beyond rich and pure, since Bill is still so young, and he's right here for the taking. However, every other instinct is screaming at those instincts not to, because Bill is not in the category for hunting and eating. He's is the one being in the whole of all universes, who Robert will not harm because Bill is his --

\-- mate.

That's where the pain stems from. Why the blood flows from deep within himself. Robert hasn't been eating as he should be, and when he denies himself the meal he could have before him, the hunger brings him pain. Far worse than when he was reading passages from the Necronomicon Ex-Mortis in his trailer. And his instincts to protect Bill, to love him as mates do, are hurting him because he keeps denying himself this one thing that could ease the hunger.

"Huh-Huh-Hospital," Bill manages to stutter out, his breath short and raspy, his pupils blown with fear. Not for himself, however, but for -- "You... need... a... hospital."

Robert shakes his head, wiping the blood on his gloves off onto the doublet and smearing it as he does. Bill watches, grimacing with disgust and fear. Robert does applaud him for his willpower, because the boy is only moments away from either driving the clown to the hospital himself or running to the nearest payphone and calling for a paramedic. Of course, the boy knows it would have to be the former, because he has a feeling Robert would try and drive away if he didn't force him personally.

"Huh-Hospital."

"No. No hospitals."

" _Yes_ , huh-hospital."

"I said no."

Bill gives him a look of horrified disbelief. He raises a shaking finger.

"You just --"

"I'll be fine," Robert says, not really sure if that was the case. "I just... I need to get cleaned up..."

Bill watches as he pulls out a cloth from his sleeve, purple in color, and with a shaking hand, he takes it from the clown. He wipes at the blood staining Robert's chin, which makes him appear to have a red clown's smile like the Other Robert, albeit a more gruesome and disturbing one, Bill grimacing at the sight of it.

"W-Wuh-What huh-happened?"

"Would you believe me if I said I didn't eat enough?" Robert asks softly, leaning back into the seat and accepting the gentle touches. Silver bells jingle with his movement.

"N-Nuh-Not eating enough c-cuh-causes _this_?" Bill asks, disbelieving, even as he wipes away the blood until the cloth is soaked with it. He gingerly accepts the next cloth Robert pulls from his sleeve, a blue one. "I'm n-nuh-no expert, I'm n-nuh-not E-E-Eddie, b-buh-but I don't think so."

"For me, it does," Robert says. Every instinct in his being was fighting itself as well as each other, waging war as it were. "I'll be fine... It's not the first time it's happened, I know what's wrong... I just need to eat something."

"Duh-Didn't y-yuh-you guh-get s-suh-something wuh-when you p-puh-pulled the car around?" Bill asks, eyes wide with worry.

He _knew_ something wrong yesterday when Robert didn't eat any of Mr. Hanlon's gumbo or Pamela's cake.

"No," Robert admits. "Almost but then..."

He would have hunted Butch Bowers tonight, ended his miserable life and saved Henry's in the long run. Had those boys not gone after Bill, painting targets on their own backs, things might be a little bit different. Butch wasn't a child, therefore his fear wouldn't have been as rich and pure, but Robert knew childhood traumas could last. He could've scared the bastard with something from his childhood, such as his own father, and could have been done with it. He had not, because Bill needed his help.

He regretted nothing.

"W-Wuh-We can g-guh-get y-yuh-you suh-something," Bill says. "M-M-My huh-house is closer than N-Nuh-Neibolt and I d-duh-don't c-cuh-care if m-m-muh-my d-duh-dad guh-gets m-muh-mad... he's probably p-p-puh-passed out drunk anyway..." Bill whimpers fearfully, worried for Robert, friend or lover, beyond words. He nearly gags at the amount of blood and how white greasepaint also stains the blue fabric. He wipes it away anyway, though both know water is needed. "There's a b-buh-bathroom n-nuh-nearby, it's p-puh-public b-buh-but it'll w-wuh-work..."

He looks up at Robert with teary eyes, glassed over and pink.

Robert's heart hurts.

Aching something awful.

"Are you sure I can't take you to the hospital?" Bill asks, his voice so soft and that of a scared child. Scared for his friend. Or lover. Or whatever the fuck they were. "I... you just... Oh, my God..."

Robert frowns sadly, his own eyes shiny with tears.

"God's not here today, Billy," he tells him softly, remembering those words. "I was forsaken a long time ago."

Bill frowns, shaking with fear even as Robert gets out of the car, nearly stumbling as he does.

It was strange, he thought, to see someone like Robert, who most kids would've thought invincible, at such a low point. He never thought someone like Robert could have medical problems and he promised himself the next time he saw Mrs. K., he was going to tell her there was absolutely nothing wrong with her son. Because Eddie had never thrown up blood before, not even when Bowers punched him really hard in the stomach that he did puke. Bill doesn't care when blood seeps onto his shirt as he presses Robert's hand against it, as though he thinks his smaller person can honestly carry the larger man.

He tries not to squirm from the sticky mess in his underwear as he walks Robert into the public bathroom, holding a long arm and avoiding Robert's hands, beyond grateful it was empty. He darts for the sink, accepting the orange cloth Robert hands him as he quickly wets it, tossing the bloodied ones into the sink and knowing he'd have to wash them. At the laundry mat or at home, he wasn't sure. He wets it as much as he can before running back to his friend, uncaring that Robert was sitting on a dirty toilet seat in a public bathroom and he quickly wipes away the drying blood from the clown's chin, uncaring that the greasepaint was coming off as well and the corners of Robert's mouth, where the red paint was and also getting smudged.

"I... I can w-wuh-wash these," Bill tells him quickly. "I d-duh-don't c-cuh-care w-wuh-what m-m-m-muh-my d-duh-dad says..."

"It'll be fine, Bill..." Robert says as Bill finishes up wiping the blood from his mouth. "I can take them to the laundry mat or just toss them..." He sighs as he forces himself to manifest clothing in the trunk of the car, his stomach rumbling with pain as blood wells into his mouth. "There's some clothes in the trunk... get them... and get yourself cleaned up..."

While Bill does flush at the words, he does as he's told. He watches Robert even as he walks out of the stall and frowns, deeply, when the clown shuts the stall door behind him. A flicker of fear, true and pure, raw and terrible, pierces him then as he looks to the floor and sees the clown boots under the stall door. He looks away, every inch of him screaming with fear to not leave Robert alone lest something happen, but he does so anyway. The minute the door shuts behind him, a powerful fist slams into the wall of the bathroom stall, leaving behind a huge dent on the inside.

Robert's eyes are wide with terror as his hand, that of a monster, with incredibly large with claws that were long, black, and _sharp_ , piercing through solid metal. He has the other arm wrapped around his stomach as a constellation of tears form on his eyelashes, his irises bleeding purple with fear. His teeth sharpen against his will as he forces the monster's hand to morph back into the clown's gloved hand, though still soiled with blood, and the obsidian claws that tear through the fabric of his fingers can't be helped. The arm reaches for the stall door, the limb twitching and hand shaking, his stomach roaring with hunger as his alpha screams for Its' mate. He trembles before his shoulder shake and wrack with sobs as he wraps both arms around his stomach, his mouth falling open and to the outsider's perspective, they would see clown boots being splashed with blood, soiling the white material and the red puffballs, as Robert threw up his own blood, murmuring to himself in that otherworldly language.

"You can't have him..." he whimpers fearfully, mournfully, for once not even talking to someone else but himself. His voice cracks and then breaks as he weeps, "You can't have him."

Outside, Bill doesn't mind the fact that it's only two t-shirts, both far too large for him but clearly perfectly sized for Robert, and a pair of boxers that was clearly too large for himself but also perfectly sized for Robert. He grabs the pair of faded jeans with shredded knees next, still squirming uncomfortably in his underwear before realizing the implication behind the clothes. He ignores how wearing Robert's clothes is going to make him feel, if only for the moment, because his first priority is Robert. His friend, or lover, or whatever the fuck they were. Although, admittedly, he did like the idea of wearing Robert's clothes. He sighs as he sees Robert's boots still in the stall, not a drop of blood anywhere on the floor. He is still worried, but he's not afraid.

He has not a clue he's not the only one relieved at that.

"Are you okay?" Bill asks, not even stuttering as he tosses the shirt and jeans over the top of the door.

"No," Robert says truthfully as he peels off the soiled gloves. "I feel like ten pounds of shit in a five pound sack."

Bill manages a smile, though there is no humor in it.

"At l-luh-least you're huh-honest," Bill tells him as he tosses the boxers up next.

The boxers come back down on his head, almost flying over the stall door.

"They're not for me," Robert tells him. "Your clothes have to be washed too... your underwear and pants... and... maybe I like it..."

"Oh..."

Bill had been trying to ignore that part, though some part of him liked hearing that last bit.

A whole lot.

With flaming cheeks, he takes the underwear back and heads for the stall at the other end of the bathroom. He doesn't know why, but he locks the door behind himself, perhaps afraid someone might come in. Someone that isn't Robert.

He can hear Robert shuffling around, hear the fabric moving, and vaguely recalls seeing Robert stripping to his boxers at the quarry. He smiles at the memory, before wondering something. He shakes that thought away as he undoes the button of his shorts, thinking that he could see the scars from Vitaly another day. Robert had too much on his plate right now. He was still half tempted to force Robert to go to the hospital, even if that meant he would have to drive and get in trouble for that, or call a paramedic. He doesn't, however, and instead pulls down his shorts and then his underwear, letting them pool to his ankles and grimacing at the mess he sees in his underwear, reaching for the toilet paper to clean it the best he can.

Robert twitches at the sound of the toilet flushing, knowing his _mate_ was only a few stalls away making him feel things he knew he shouldn't. He appreciates Bill's worry, but it's misplaced. And it's causing more distress than relief for the clown at the moment.

His shirt goes next, and he smiles, sweetly and honestly, when he sees Robert's lipstick smudges on his skin. He's reluctant to wipe them away with his shirt, just as he's reluctant to wipe away the lipstick from his mouth, but he knows it's necessary. He can hear Robert's stall door opening and watches, mostly naked, through the little crack between the door and the stall's walls, as Robert approaches the sink. He's wearing the white t-shirt, hiding his back from Bill, and the jeans, and has his bloodied clothes and the pantaloons draped across one arm. The greasepaint is smeared across his mouth but the blood is gone, making him resemble himself instead of the Other Robert. Bill sighs as he looks away, missing how the clown's eyes flashed orange.

Bill pulls on the shirt, smiling at how baggy and huge it was on his person, and how it seemed more like he was wearing a circus tent, and then he slid on the boxers. They were a big bit on him, but they didn't slide off his body, though they slide almost sensually along the expanse of his hips. He misses, entirely, how the clown watches in the mirror, a puny stall door not hiding Bill from him, and obsidian claws dig into the metal of the bathroom sink, a hungry look in those starlight blue eyes.

It was beyond Robert how life had taken such drastic and outright bizarre turns for him. He lay in the laundry mat, late at night, with Bill Denbrough of all people, across the bench inside the mat. Bill was throwing the clothes into the washer along with the cloths, a bottle of cheap soap on the top of the machine. Robert is lying on his stomach, his head turned so that his temple is pressed against the bench to dull the throbbing in it, and his arms and legs dangle loosely over the edges of the seat. He watches with tired eyes as Bill reaches into his short pockets before tossing them in, grabbing the crumpled wad of one dollar bills and the boy murmurs to himself the amount before worrying.

"My boot," Robert says softly, almost whispering, Bill turning towards him. "In my boot. I have money."

"R-Ruh-Really?" Bill asks, voicing his shock.

"Why is that surprising?" Robert asks tiredly.

"W-W-Wuh-Well... it j-juh-just suh-seems l-luh-like a weird place to p-p-puh-put m-muh-money," Bill says as he approaches, tossing his own money onto the top of the washer before pulling off one of the clown's boot. "And y-yuh-you know it's n-nuh-not g-guh-good to w-wuh-wear shoes without s-suh-socks, r-ruh-right?" he asks, voicing his disapproval. His mom used to tell him that all the time, both the boy and the clown recall.

"I loathe foot prisons, Bill," Robert says. "The shoes are bad enough as it is."

"Weirdo."

"You love me," Robert says miserably.

Bill's cheeks flush, but he doesn't deny it. His heart, of course, does skip a couple of beats as he turns the boot upside down and watches a stack of money fall out and into his hand.

His eyes do widen, however, when he realizes who's face it is that he's looking at.

"Huh-Holy crap," Bill says. "These are f-fuh-fucking f-fifties. Where'd you even g-guh-get the idea for that?"

"Bob Gray," Robert says. "His grandfather taught it to him. And he told his Mrs. Kersh to stick it in her underwear. Her bra."

"Gruh-Gross."

"Still not a bad place to store money, Bill," Robert says, smiling with amusement. "Or French fries"

"E-E-Eddie would argue w-wuh-with that," Bill tells him, Robert already knowing that was true, before the boy runs for the change machine.

Robert finds his determination sweet, because he knows Bill doesn't give a shit about his own clothes at the moment, or any of them for that matter, he just wants to make sure Robert is going to be okay.

It had hurt, once more, to manifest changes of clothing, though it was two white t-shirts and a pair of boxers and jeans. Although Robert knew it would've been more humiliating if he had needed Bill's help to dress himself. He knows what a scene they would make, with a hotrod outside in the open, a thirteen year old boy in underwear that clearly wasn't his as it really did look like he was wearing a white circus tent, and Robert in "poor man's" clothing. Bill sighs as the quarters pop out of the machine, practically pouring out.

"I don't want you to pay me back, Bill," Robert says. "Except maybe to put a bolt between my eyes."

"D-Duh-Don't s-suh-say that," Bill says angrily, tearfully, as he grabs a handful of the quarters, still not all of them, which were still raining out of the machine, though it didn't even accept fifties and Robert made it so (the owner of the mat in for a pleasant surprise), and runs back for the machine. Bill sighs once the machine is up and running before walking back to Robert. He lifts the clown's head and upper body up before setting Robert's head onto his lap, running his fingers through the older man's hair. "Thuh-Thirty m-m-muh-minutes on the wuh-washer and s-suh-sixty on the d-druh-dryer. It m-m-muh-might n-nuh-need to guh-go through the w-wuh-wash more than w-wuh-once."

"Bill, I hate to tell you this, but I really don't care," Robert says, purring under the gentle touch.

A rather alpha sound.

"W-Wuh-Well, yuh-you should," Bill says firmly. "And y-yuh-you n-nuh-need to stuh-start eating b-buh-better. I c-cuh-can't b-buh-believe you threw up fuh-fucking _bl-bluh-blood_. And after we --"

He flushes, stopping himself.

"How do you think I feel?" Robert asks tartly.

"E-E-Eddie would agree with me," Bill says, his worry overtaking him. "The r-ruh-rest of the Luh-Losers, t-tuh-too." He stares down at Robert, his lips quivering as his eyes brim with tears. "You _scared_ me."

Robert frowns, apologetic.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

Robert frowns as he leans into Bill's touch.

"You know, this was a r-ruh-really w-wuh-weird f-fuh-first d-duh-date."

"First? Wouldn't the tiger have counted as the first?"

"M-M-Muh-Maybe. Suh-Second, then?"

"Um... no... I say the piano was the second."

"That was a n-nuh-nice w-wuh-one. D-Duh-Does the ice cream c-cuh-count as the third?"

"Maybe. So, number four then?"

"I g-guh-guess s-suh-so."

Bill smiles, only for a moment, as he stares worriedly down at Robert, who looks exhausted.

There are bags under his eyes, and what skin is revealed looks incredibly pale. More so than his usual pigment. And Bill can see that he's lost more weight in his face, even more than when he first "met" him after the fight with Connor, Belch, and Vic at the circus. There hardly seemed to be any meat on Robert's facial bones. And he can see, when Robert speaks, the red liquid staining once pearly white teeth.

"I... Please don't do that again. P-P-Pruh-Promise m-m-muh-me yuh-you'll eat b-b-buh-better. You n-nuh-need f-fuh-food."

"I'll try my best," Robert says, not having the heart to tell Bill the truth. Not that he thinks the boy could handle it in this life. Or at the very least, not at this moment. "It was, as Tiffany says, just a little slip. Rome wasn't built in a day, you know."

"N-Nuh-No, b-buh-but... you n-nuh-need to tuh-take c-cuh-care of yourself... W-Wuh-What w-wuh-would wuh-we d-duh-do if w-wuh-we l-luh-lost y-yuh-you?"

"Who the hell is _we_?" Robert asks, confused.

Yet he keeps his eyes closed.

"M-Muh-Me, Buh-Bev, Guh-Georgie, B-B-Buh-Ben, M-Mike, Stan, R-Ruh-Richie, E-Eds, and all of your animals. Y-Yuh-You m-might huh-have m-muh-missed it or f-fuh-forgot, but there are p-puh-people in this town who c-cuh-care about you. I think I can s-speak for all of us when I say that we _love_ you. You're one of us. A Loser, and Losers stick together. You've always huh-had our b-buh-backs w-wuh-when we needed you, l-luh-let us huh-have yours."

Robert's frown deepens.

It felt so very strange to know that. Bill had never gone without people not giving a shit about him. He had friends, the Losers, and his little brother. To an extent, he had his dad. At least for housing, food in his stomach, and clothes on his back. At one point, he had both of his parents. Now, he had Robert. But the clown knows that won't last if he doesn't eat as he's supposed to. He just doesn't want to let go of Bill yet. Not tonight anyway. He had just thought Freddy's power would've given him a little more time...

"I've never had people give a crap about me," Robert tells him. "The people I knew... they hated me. I didn't ask to be... made... but I just was. I was there and to them, I was less than nothing. They didn't care if I lived or died, but I know for a fact they had a preference to know I was dead..." He sighs. "So, to have people care... it scares me. To trust anyone besides myself... to care about anyone besides myself, and lose them..."

"It scares you to be _loved_?" Bill asks, eyes wide with confusion and hurt. "To trust p-puh-people? That's wuh-one thing b-buh-but n-nuh-none of us are just going to _leave_ you."

His cheeks darken, however, when he realizes what he just said. Robert knows it's because his heart is beating faster than normal once again. Any of the other Losers could have said that, such as Beverly or even Eddie, and they would've just said it under the sense of how friends love each other. Bill says it with a different meaning, a metaphorical flower blooming inside of him.

"I... I know... eventually it huh-happens b-buh-but that's n-nuh-no excuse to _hasten_ it," Bill says. "There are p-puh-people huh-here in this tuh-town that w-wuh-would b-buh-be huh-heartbroken if you d-duh-died... and all juh-just because you didn't eat."

Robert doesn't make eye contact.

"And... m-muh-maybe it's suh-selfish of m-muh-me buh-but... I can't imagine knowing that you could have been taken care of... and we didn't... You do need someone to look out for you and... I'd like to be that person. If even just as friends." Bill sniffles, tears streaming down his cheeks as he holds Robert's upper body close to his little person. "Y-Yuh-You m-m-muh-might n-nuh-not think it, buh-but you've guh-got a future to l-luh-look forward to, too. And... I'd luh-like you to be in mine."

"I may not be," Robert says. "Your future... might not even consist of the same set of friends you have now. None of your parents are even really friends with the same kids they went to middle school with..." he looks away. "I'm sure..." He sighs. "It's just something that happens."

"M-Muh-Maybe... buh-but friendships l-luh-like wuh-what yuh-you and I huh-have, wuh-what wuh-we huh-have with the L-Luh-Losers duh-don't juh-just go away because we're older," Bill says, Robert smiling sadly at his choice of words. "And... yuh-you're wuh-one of the few guh-good things in m-my life right now and I can't stand the idea of you... not taking care of yourself... what do you eat anyway? Besides popcorn?"

"Let's leave it as I have a very particular diet," Robert says dryly. "One I've been neglecting... hence my stomach problems. I'll be fine."

He sucks in a breath when he feels Bill's hand pressing against his stomach, massaging the spot there, yet he presses his hand against Bill's smaller one, smiling when the boy accepts it.

Robert chuckles, morbidly amused.

"Sorry about your shorts."

Bill bites his lips, smiliing shyly.

"S-Suh-Sorry about your c-cuh-costume."

Robert closes his eyes.

"It's strange having someone who cares so much, when he knows so little," he says. "It's strange to care so much myself."

"You've suh-seen suh-some d-duh-dark shit and guh-got duh-dealt a shitty huh-hand in l-life," Bill says. "That duh-doesn't m-mean you're an asshole and d-duh-don't d-duh-deserve to b-buh-be l-luh-loved. It's asshole not to take care of yourself and let yourself... d-duh-deteriorate. Is that what huh-happened to Sh-Shardik?"

Robert doesn't answer.

It isn't what _exactly_ happened to the bear, but he can't talk about that.

"I'll tuh-take that as a y-yuh-yes," Bill says, scowling tearfully. "Yuh-You might've been an asshole in the p-puh-past but you grew out of it. And you're not suh-some creepy p-pervert after little b-boys like me. Mr. Keene is a fuh-fucking creep. Those boys from tonight were creeps. And you actually give a shit about people who got dealt shit hands in l-life, p-puh-people luh-like you. You're the only one who does care. And you didn't huh-have to suh-save that Adrian k-kuh-kid... you juh-just did. Nobody forced you to do it. And... maybe you've done bad things you can't tell me, sure, but you've changed because of them. And not for the worse, but for the better. You're a better person because of those experiences."

 _Am I_?

 _Am I a better person_?

Robert isn't sure.

"I'm not safe, Bill. I'm dangerous."

 _I'm hardly a person_...

"Everybody is d-duh-dangerous. Suh-Some p-puh-people are juh-just b-better at huh-hiding it than others... or they use it to huh-hurt p-puh-people."

Robert runs his fingers along the back of Bill's wrist, knowing the boy still had Freddy's marks to bear as well, though those would heal and fade, not even scar. For that, he was grateful.

"I just don't want to hurt you. I scared you today, Bill, and I can't forgive myself for that," Robert says. "Twice, actually."

"You were protecting me," Bill says, not even stuttering. "The f-fuh-first time, and the suh-second time couldn't be helped. I'm n-nuh-not scared _of_ yuh-you... I'm scared _for_ you. And..."

His cheeks dust pink.

"You won't hurt me."

"It wouldn't be simple, Bill," Robert says, knowing what Bill is thinking.

"Nothing's simple," Bill says. "And wuh-what's f-fuh-five m-muh-more yuh-years? I m-muh-mean... I wuh-would huh-hate to wuh-wait that l-luh-long."

 _I've waited for thousands of years_ , _Bill_ , Robert thinks. _I've never understood why something always felt so off_ , _why everything felt so wrong and why I was so lonely_. _I never could understand or remember my dreams even though they were my memories from that old life_. He knows, too, that he would wait a thousand more years if at the end of the story...

... there was a happily ever after.

For him.

And for Bill.

But if he had to give up his happily ever after for Bill, he would.

"I would wait, Bill," Robert tells him. "But I'm not sure I can."

Not because he was impatient, far from it as a matter of fact, but because he knows that by the end of this summer, he's likely to go into the 27 year sleep and he will never see Bill or any of the Losers again. He was their friend, after all, not their enemy, and already he was on his second chance. He was not their childhood trauma that plagued them so many years into the future. 27 to be exact. 54 if you counted Robert's old life. These Losers would forget him, he was sure, and that made him feel both relieved and sad. Guilty as well, because he didn't want to be forgotten.

Oh, but they would forget. Everyone always forgot about silly old Pennywise.

They all forgot about the clown...

About It.

"Then d-duh-don't wuh-wait," Bill says. "I d-duh-don't wuh-want to. I w-wuh-want this. I don't w-wuh-want m-my happiness ruh-wrecked because suh-some asshole wuh-wants it and can't have it. I d-duh-don't suh-see a f-fuh-future, without you in it. Or even a huh-hot wuh-wife for that matter."

Robert knows the alpha in him shouldn't feel so elated at those words, but he can't help it. He purrs, accepting Bill's gentle caress. However;

"If I ever do frighten you," Robert says softly, "If for even a moment you feel afraid of me, not for me, I want you to run. I want you to run as far away as you can, as fast as you can, and forget all about me. I want you to forget I even existed."

Bill stares with wide eyes as Robert gives him a look.

"Promise me, Bill. Promise me that if you ever fear me, you will forget me."

Those words alone should frighten Bill, but they do not. There is no sweet stink of it in the air, nothing to season the meat on Bill's bones. He pierces Bill with his stare.

"Promise me."

"No."

Robert's eyes harden, but so do Bill's.

The boy's will matched his own, after all.

"You're not scary," Bill says, not even stuttering. "And... you aren't going to scare me into thinking you're some kind of... monster. The real monsters are those k-kuh-kids from earlier. The real monsters are people like my dad. People like Mr. Keene and whoever made you think you don't matter. That you don't deserve to be loved. That nobody loves you and you're b-buh-better off d-duh-dead. That's a lie. This is your p-p-ploy, isn't it? You want me to be scared of you? Well, I'm not. I'll never be afraid of you. There are a lot of things I don't know about you, things you might not ever tell me, but I don't care. I'm not afraid of you. I..." Bill lowers his eyes, his cheeks blooming red. There are words he thinks of, but he's not ready to say them. Robert isn't sure if he should feel guilty or overjoyed. Full of the emotion as well. "I _care_ for you... a whole lot... suh-so I huh-hope you're cool with b-being stuck with me for tonight... I can't believe you wouldn't go to the huh-hospital."

"I don't see it as being stuck with you, Bill," Robert says softly, sweetly. "But what about your dad?"

"I don't care," Bill says firmly, not an ounce of fear in his voice as he holds Robert close. "I won't leave you. I care for you so much... a lot."

Robert's eyes turn soft as he holds Bill close, pressing the side of his face against the boy's stomach. He can hear the unbroken promise in Bill's words and like a bird, his heart soars.

He should be pissed. He should be livid that this creature, so small in comparison, a human being, one of Maturin's foulest creations, was unafraid of him. Unafraid of It. He should be spitting profanities, or throwing something hurtful in Bill's face. Or even taking the chance he has now and killing him instantly. He could do it. He could get away with it. Robert Gray was but a man long since dead, and nobody would question it if It disappeared off the face of the earth. Or if the circus left around the same time that Bill Denbrough had gone missing.

He doesn't do that, however. Nor does he feel the slightest bit of angry.

Because he cares a whole lot for Bill, too.

They have to talk about what happened, the clown knows, but he's too tired and hungry at the moment and Bill too worried about Robert's wellbeing rather than his own. It's a conversation they'll definitely have, but maybe later.

Maybe over breakfast, Robert thinks domestically, weirdly content with the idea of buying Bill breakfast in the morning... He's gone soft alright, but only for Bill.

So, instead of getting angry, he smiles sincerely as his heart beats, and quite possibly breaks.

He holds Bill close and the boy holds him, as lovers.

"Thank you, Bill."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I love how I managed to have a steamy scene between these two before turning it to something disturbing. Heartwarming and disturbing, it's what I do. And while I'm unsure of when more steamy scenes are coming, know that I've got a big one in mind that was, yes, inspired by Beastars. So for the people who want steam and read my notes, there's something to look forward to ;)  
> \- I'm not trying to make Bill the "damsel in distress" type but I am looking forward to the next chapter as well, where Clowny will most likely find out that jealous mates can go both ways! No seriously, I have a whole big scene in mind where Bill gets jelly... and maybe, just maybe, somewhere down the line, he saves the clown, too... Or has he already saved him without even knowing it?  
> \- Anyways, I hope it was good and I can't wait for all of the scenes I have planned in my head. I shit you not, I see this story as an anime, almost exactly like Beastars and I hope you'll leave comments down below telling me what you thought!  
> \- See you in Chapter 26! Holy shit this story is going to be so long and I am so happy about that.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Chapter twenty-six!  
> \- Exactly two weeks from the last time I updated. I wanted it to be sooner but some stuff happened... it's been a rough two weeks for me. At least it's a long one and there's kissing and a jealous Bill! To clarify, she starts it. A heads up for the fact that it gets a bit physical. Might have another jealousy tidbit in a later chapter.  
> \- I'm thinking the next one will be the summer school chapter I had in mind and possibly Stan's birthday. Also, I watched Doctor Sleep, didn't read the book and don't really want to, and I'm going to admit, the You-Know-What scene fucked me up. Other than that, there's a scene in here heavily inspired from that. Also, the one part is inspired by Taryn(my favorite Dream Warrior) from Nightmare on Elm Street 3. I think I just wanted an excuse to have Robert eat someone in this chapter... and have a Dark Knight reference.  
> \- Sorry if I missed any typos and I hope it's a good one and I'm excited for the next one. Although a heads up now I may have some dark stuff in the next one. Unsure at the moment. Might have those bullies get eaten. I'm trying to figure it out. Might be fluffy Billwise. Anyway, let me know how it was in the comments below!  
> \- Oh, also a heads up in this chapter about Bill's perspective on the "age gap"

"Bill, this is highly unnecessary."

"Y-Yuh-You w-wuh-wouldn't l-luh-let m-muh-me call a p-puh-paramedic. This is w-wuh-what y-yuh-you g-guh-get f-fuh-for that."

"Fear of paramedics and paramedic ambulances at night is a highly realistic fear. Why else do you think I always make sure the car doors are locked before turning on the headlights in the dark?"

"Using a scene from _R-Ruh-Return of the L-Luh-Living D-Duh-Dead_ is n-nuh-not an excuse to g-guh-get out of seeing a p-puh-paramedic. Z-Zuh-Zombies are n-nuh-not going to attack y-yuh-you j-juh-just b-buh-because you c-cuh-called an ambulance or t-tuh-turned the c-cuh-car's huh-headlights on b-buh-before l-luh-locking the doors. You're as bad as Richie."

"You're right, it isn't an excuse. It is, however, a reason. And it's a damn good one. You never know when the zombie apocalypse is going to happen. Hell, in this world we live in? Any horror movie character could pop up out of nowhere."

"Y-Yuh-You're an idiot."

"Love you too, Billy."

Bill's cheeks turn scarlet as the nurse assigned to "Mr. Gray" smiles with pleasant amusement. She's a young lady just out of medical school with a slim, almost willowy figure and large but sweet eyes that seemingly shine under the lighting. Her hair is long and flowing, passing her shoulder blades in elegant waves. She's a pretty little thing, if not a little strange in behavior.

Although she knows something greater is amiss with the two of them, because according to the boy, who she knew to be named Bill Denbrough, as she was his nurse the last time he was here, "Mr. Gray" had what could be considered a "stomach problem" of which she could tell without asking was very much real but neither one would admit any more than that. "Mr. Gray" refused to go into detail and young Billy grew squeamish if not outright queasy when trying to explain. Emphasis on _trying_ , as his stutter made his words cut themselves off.

Under any other circumstances, a few blood samples and an IV would do, possibly more if they would actually explain what the problem was, but it's not every day that she meets someone like "Mr. Gray" and she's merely curious. Especially considering the fact that there was a tiny little voice in her head, one that sounded suspiciously like his telling her to go away and get the discharge papers ready. The strangest thing about that was not even the voice in her head, but the fact that "Mr. Gray's" lips were not moving and he was giving her an irritated look. As though he could not figure out why she had not left already.

She mistakes him for being someone like her. Someone different.

"Blood is supposed to stay on the inside, not be taken out by needles," Robert says as she brings forth the tray of needles. He grimaces at them, the nurse knowing that young Billy was under the impression that his companion was simply afraid of them. The nurse knew that was not so. "I'm _fine_."

"You threw up b-bluh-blood," Bill says, just as stubborn as "Mr. Gray" she realizes. "You're not f-fuh-fucking f-fuh-fine."

"Language," she chides softly, a sweet smile on her face as she takes hold of a needle. "Blood, huh? That doesn't sound very fine to me, either. Stranger things have happened, though. You'll only feel a pinprick, Mr. Gray. And I have a feeling you've dealt with far worse than that." She says those words as she glances at his face, which is mostly covered in white greasepaint as well as red paint, the latter made to resemble a cheetah's facial markings. She knows he is supposed to be a clown from the circus. "Any fun animals at the circus?"

"The t-tuh-tiger," Bill says, almost instantly. "He's the b-buh-best."

"Don't let the rest of them hear you say that,. And I'll have you know that my Carrie is the best," Robert says. "The runt of her litter and the only one who didn't try to run like hell when she first saw me."

Bill tilts his head, curious.

"Is that the --"

"Yes, that's the piglet. And no, that's not an insult for Carrie White. That girl deserved better than what she got," Robert says, forcing down a repulsed shudder as the tiny menace draws near, seemingly ready to draw from him. He grumbles under his breath, muttering curses in a language the nurse has never heard before, as he lifts up his foot. He sticks two fingers into the side. "Since you're so determined to sit here with me for the next four hours --" the nurse smiles, curious and amused, an eyebrow rising as she watches "Mr. Gray" pull out a ten dollar bill from the boot, "-- go buy yourself something out of the vending machines. They're in the next hall over. You and I both know we're going to be stuck here for a while."

"It won't take that long," the nurse tells him, to which he scoffs. "It'll be over before you know it. Hospitals aren't that scary."

"Then why are they often the setting for horror movies?" Robert retorts.

Bill shrugs, having no regrets. Not about making sure Robert was okay. He would sit with Robert all night if he had to, though he did agree that it was tedious just waiting for the doctor to bother to show up and it was bad enough that Bill's own doctor had only asked, "You ready to go home, Mr. Denbrough?" without even glancing at him the whole night.

"D-Duh-Do you w-wuh-want anything?"

"Tater tots and chocolate," Robert says. "But I don't think hospitals are exactly stocked on that first one so get me a Hershey's out of the machine. Get yourself whatever you want... actually make that a coke, too."

"That's n-nuh-not m-muh-much... is chocolate r-ruh-really a g-guh-good idea?"

"Probably not," the nurse chimes in, smiling widely at the dirty look the clown gives her as she ties the band around his bicep, purposefully snapping it just to watch him jerk. "The hard part's over."

"The hard part?" Robert asks dryly. "We all know hospital food sucks. Chocolate and coke. That's all I want."

Bill gives him a look.

"I meant the soda," Robert says. He sucks in a breath, though he needs no air, when she presses her fingers against the inner part of his elbow. He smirks at the wide-eyed if not terrified look she gives him.

"Holy shit, you're like dry fucking ice. How the hell are you alive?" she asks.

Robert doesn't answer her, still wondering how the hell he wound up here, letting Bill get his way.

"Just don't go investigating funny noises in a mostly empty hospital in the middle of the night, Bill. You and I can both name every movie that's happened in."

Bill just laughs softly.

"I'll b-buh-be f-fuh-fine. I think you w-wuh-watch to m-muh-many huh-horror m-muh-movies."

"Maybe so, but I'm still alive, aren't I?"

"F-Fuh-Fair enough."

Bill smiles as he gets up, exiting the room and he bites his lips to suppress his grin as well as his laughter when he hears the nurse's next question, blissfully unaware that the receptionist was already preparing the discharge papers, as he was more easily influenced by Pennywise's shadow than the nurse, and yet was still managing to procrastinate because of the shadow of another. That, and he didn't realize that the nurse hadn't taken a sample at all. Not a single one. Nor did she really intend to start an IV. As a matter of fact --

"Jesus Christ... next I suppose you'll have no blood pressure and no pulse, be room temperature, and still somehow be conscious."

"Oh, ha ha," is Robert's unimpressed response. "Would you get out of here? Don't you have to use that shit somewhere else?"

"Not until four. And your shit won't work on me, sir. And don't even think about walking out of here on your own. I'd like your help with something, anyway. You seem like you could be better at it than me."

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"You know what I mean."

Robert gives her a vaguely curious look, raising an eyebrow while he was at it.

She beams at him, her eyes _shining_.

Bill walks through the hospital alone, well aware that he was receiving strange looks from tonight's skeleton crew. He recognizes the receptionist, an older man on the heavier side with a balding head, from the night he was here as well as one of the orderlies who is giving him a thoughtful look. Bill doesn't miss how the doctor, the same one he had that night, walks right past Robert's room without so much as a sideways glance and he scowls at that even as he heads down the hallway, passing by the janitor who was for some reason wearing a red and green striped sweater in July. The orderly looks between Robert's room and Bill's retreating form, eyeing both thoughtfully before grinning.

Bill remembers the nurse, the youngest at the hospital, from his own visit that dreadful night. She had been decent to him, the only one who actually bothered to take care of him without getting a glazed sort of look about her. And the ones who didn't have those glazed looks about them just ignored him, except for her. And for whatever reason, the one that made Bill appreciate her the most, she had refused, adamantly, to sedate him or let her fellow nurses sedate him. Although she was the youngest, she had taken charge of the entire ordeal.

It was just beyond Bill why the other hospital staff members would listen to her. Unless she was just very persuasive like that or had a good background behind her. He had no idea.

He liked her, though. She had been kind to him, and kind to Georgie, he remembers, even though she did seem a little on the off side. Though Bill guessed that was just part of her personality. Regardless, he would consider her a friend and he knew Robert was in good hands. Although it was weird how she always seemed to know things without having been told them, unless she was just keen like that.

Bill forces down a yawn as he puts the ten into the candy machine, still unsure of why and how Robert afforded half of the things he did considering the fact that everything in his circus was free, including the tickets. It wasn't Bill's business and obviously not his money, so he didn't really care much, but it was still an odd thing think about. He sucks in his lower lip, looking between the different options before settling on a Hershey's bar for himself, getting Robert's while he was at it. He uses the remaining change to get two cokes, not understanding why Robert would only want chocolate and pop instead of a proper meal. Unless he thought he couldn't handle something stronger at the moment, which made sense, but still.

Bill just worried about him. It was still beyond him how "not eating" could cause a grown man to vomit blood. Or any man for that matter.

A familiar voice startles him out of his thoughts before they can fully start to wander, a voice that makes him tense all over as the hairs on the back of his neck stand, a cold shiver running down his spine like maggots crawling along his skin.

"Hiya, Billy."

He ignores the voice in favor of grabbing the two Hershey's bars and the two cans of coke. He tries to keep his head down as he turns to leave but the orderly sticks an arm in his way, pressing the hand attached to the wall and blocking Bill's path. Bill swallows, a painfully familiar feeling of unease stirring in the pit of his belly. He could dart under the orderly's arm or even around, but he doesn't think he could be fast enough if the orderly decides to make a grab for him, the boy well aware of the fact that they were the only two in this hallway...

... and since it was the skeleton crew, he wasn't sure anyone would be inclined to help him if things went south.

And judging by the nasty gleam in the orderly's eyes, they were about to.

Really fast.

And as much as Bill appreciates it, he doesn't want to burden Robert tonight any more than he already has. He thinks he's done enough of that already.

The man isn't unattractive, not really, but he isn't Robert. He looks like he could be about his early to mid twenties with blonde and bouncy curls atop of his head and dark eyes. He's a tall man with broad shoulders and a decent looking face, and the grin he's sporting makes Bill think that he's trying to be charming, but he doesn't find it to be very charming and he certainly doesn't appreciate how the man's eyes rake over his form. He doesn't like how he takes extreme notice that Bill is not only in pajamas, but pajamas that are far too large for his person. Bill is inexperienced, not dim. The look in the orderly's eyes is the same look those boys from earlier had. Bill's frown deepens, remembering that the orderly was also here that night after the store incident, but...

... they're not friends.

And Bill doesn't remember telling the orderly his name and at the moment he isn't doing anything wrong. He's getting candy and pop, like any other kid would. There's nothing wrong with that, so therefore the orderly no reason to be blocking his path unless he was here to start trouble.

Bill didn't want anymore trouble tonight.

"Hi," Bill says simply, a can of coke and a chocolate bar in each hand, pressed against his chest, as he goes to walk around but the orderly swaps arms, pressing the other palm to the opposite wall and propping his other hand on his hip, still smirking down at bill, who silently curses the small space of this side hall. He's not going to move, Bill knows, and yet he still asks, ever so kindly, "P-Puh-Pluh-Please m-muh-movie."

"Now why would I do a thing like that, huh?" the orderly asks. "Where are you off to in such a rush that you can't stop for a chat?"

"M-Muh-My..." Bill begins nervously, unsure of what he's going to say but then the words are pouring out of his mouth, leaving his tongue and his lips faster than his brain can comprehend them, the boy not exactly sure of why he says these words but knowing deep down that he would definitely like them to be true. And not just because he was pretty sure he couldn't take the orderly on his own. "M-Muh-My b-b-buh-boyfriend is w-wuh-waiting f-fuh-for m-muh-me."

The orderly scoffs, tilting the toothpick between his teeth. That grin never leaves his face, but Bill can tell that he doesn't believe him. Not that Robert can really be called Bill's "boyfriend" because he wasn't a boy... and Bill didn't really find that the word suited him, for some strange reason. The orderly will get a nasty shock, however.

Soon enough.

"Boyfriend, huh?" he says, that grin stretching, ear to ear. "You've been busy since the last time you were here, haven't you, little man?"

Bill glares at him, his eyes growing cold.

"M-Muh-Movie it."

The orderly sneers, wide and nasty.

"Or else what?" he asks. "You gonna run to that imaginary boyfriend of yours? Does your old man even know you're here?" Bill is silent, the orderly lets out a faint chuckle. "Guess not. Ol' Robert Gray, huh? That's the clown, isn't it? Funny, don't you think? The rumors about you and that guy. It makes me wonder, does _he_ know about your little _problem_ , Billy?"

Bill backs away, confused, knowing full well that the orderly is just trying to get under his skin. The orderly follows him, fingers sliding across the tiled wall as he looms over Bill. Looms, just like his father. Just like those boys from earlier.

"W-Wuh-What p-p-puh-p-puh-puh --"

Bill grits his teeth, face burning with humiliation as the orderly laughs at him. Then he's grabbing Bill's arm, forcefully, and turning it over to bare his forearm and inner elbow. He points at the inner part of Bill's elbow, poking at the spot.

"This one."

He gives it a glance before raising an eyebrow, frowning with confusion. He doesn't let Bill yank his arm out of he's grabbing the other arm, flipping it over and looking at the inner elbow. Bill just manages not to drop the chocolate bars, struggling to pull his arms out of the orderly's grip. Bill forces down the whimper of pain that wants toe scape him as the grips tighten, threateningly. The orderly clicks his tongue, actually having the audacity to tsk at Bill repeatedly, almost disapprovingly or maybe it's approvingly, Bill can't quite tell.

"Huh. Most don't use their arms if they're using heavily and trying to hide the marks. Ain't got a spot on you, so..." he says, his grin returning, wide and foul. Bill can't help but make an angry noise as he tries to yank his arms away but the orderly doesn't let go. "... you hiding something, Billy?"

"N-Nuh-No," Bill says, scowling. He couldn't believe anyone would even think that. It was bad enough his dad seemed to think so. "L-Luh-Let g-guh-go of m-muh-me."

"I'm not finished," the orderly says, shoving the boy against the vending machine, Bill's back touching cold metal. Bill squirms, angrily. He tenses, however, when one hand lets go of his wrist, only to take hold of his chin with a thumb and forefinger. "You aren't stupid, are you, Billy? How's the arm? Bet that shit scarred right over, didn't it?"

Bill glares at him, eyes burning like fire. He goes to bite the bastard's hand, hard, but he moves it away. The orderly's eyes light up.

"Looks like we got ourselves a biter," he says, laughing as he slides his hand down Bill's side, all the way down to the boy's hip. The slashes underneath the boxers flare with pain and Bill's body instinctively clamps down on the pained whine that wants to escape him. "That sweet piece of ass nurse your clown pal's got? She don't want the goods when they're offered. Had the nerve to tell me that karma was gonna get me. But I think I got something that might just interest you. A lot more than any circus freak, that's for sure."

Bill opens his mouth, half tempted to defend Robert's honor and half tempted to bite that stupid grin right off the orderly's face and partly tempted to scream for help. Or maybe, just maybe, smash the prick upside the head. With a can of coke or his own head, Bill isn't sure yet, but the orderly's grin turns into a sneer.

"Don't bother screaming, short shit. Your circus freak won't hear and it's the ghost crew tonight. Nobody's listening. And who'd believe a little slut like you, anyway?" he says, his sneer making that decent face turn into something ugly. Bill nearly whines, a hysterical sort of noise, but it gets caught somewhere in his throat because _not again_. "Besides, unlike Freakshow, I got exactly what you need."

And he reaches into the pocke to his scrubs, Bill hearing the jangling before they were dangling in front of his face almost like a toy for a playful cat.

"I'm n-nuh-not a f-fuh-fucking j-juh-junkie," Bill snaps, nearly spitting in the prick's face.

The orderly scoffs again.

"Uh huh. And the nurse with your pal is sane," he retorts. "He your dealer or what? Not just nay loser would sit with the circus freak for a stomach bug."

"Fuck you!" Bill snaps.

"That's kinda what I had in mind, yeah," the orderly says, grinning.

"He'll kill you," Bill tells him, unsure of what makes him say it but he knows it's true. Robert did nearly kill, quite possibly by running down, five underage boys only about an hour ago, and casually, albeit angrily, stated that he'd kill six more just for _looking_ at Bill the wrong way. "If you touch me, he'll kill you."

It should disturb him, knowing this, that Robert would easily kill without asking any questions and spoke about ending lives as though they were nothing, as though people were nothing more than flies, but considering what nearly happened to Bill tonight, and what was nearly happening now, Bill couldn't find it in himself to care. Robert didn't say it just about anyone, however, he only said it about people who tried to hurt Bill. And if Bill was honest, but only with Robert, he was sorely tempted to let him do it, at least with the orderly. Just so that people would get the message; Bill wasn't some slut for sale and he wasn't a junkie either.

He still doesn't want Robert to get into trouble, because Bill isn't dumb enough to believe that the police would punish those boys or even this orderly, but he's had it with people pulling this shit. It was bad enough Connor already seemed to believe the stupid rumors.

"I'm sure," the orderly says, not sounding or looking at all like he cared. Bill sucks in a breath as fingers slip into the leg of the boxers, sliding along the expanse of his inner thigh, Bill's instincts kicking in automatically. Literally speaking. The grin on the bastard's face stretches as Bill's thigh twitches from the uncomfortable touch. He lifts his other knee... "Come on, baby boy, don't act like you don't want it. A sweet little slut like you?"

"Fuck off!"

And Bill knees him, square in the junk.

 _Hard_.

He isn't finished, however.

Because fuck all of that.

He strikes the orderly in the side of the head with the can of coke, hard, uncaring of how the can dents and the fact that he shook it. The pissed off yell laced with pain makes it all worth it. So very, very worth it. He darts as soon as the orderly lets go, unable to ignore the immense feeling of _satisfaction_ he gets as the bastard screams curses. Nobody comes running at the sound, not even the janitor in a red and green striped sweater, who gives Bill an impressed look as the boy runs past him.

"You little bitch!" the orderly yells as he stumbles, unable to stand as he presses one hand against the vending machine to steady himself and the other holds his crotch. "Fucking brat!"

"Oh, he's a brat alright, but he's _my_ brat."

The orderly barely has any time to look up to see how said that before a gloved hand was grabbing him by the throat, the grinning face of Pennywise the Dancing Clown, bulbous head, spiked up and fluffy ginger hair, monstrously large and sharp teeth, glowing yellow eyes and all, staring right back down at him as obsidian claws tear through the gloves and dig into _tasty_ , _tasty_ , _beautiful **flesh**_.

Yet the other hand rises up, obsidian claws tearing through the white fabric of the clown's gloves, to grab the toothpick from between the orderly's teeth. The prick whimpers as Pennywise grins, wide and wickedly, sinful and _hungrily_.

He waggles the point near the orderly's eye, relishing in the tasty, tasty, beautiful _fear_ that rolls off the man in tidal waves.

"Wanna see a magic trick? I'm gonna make this toothpick _disappear_."

Not quite as strong, but enough.

For now.

Nobody hears the screaming.

Not even Bill.

Who is currently grumbling under his breath as he walks down the hallway, somewhat pouty but who can really blame him? He's had it with people trying to take advantage of him. Especially in _that_ way. And _how dare_ that guy? How _fucking dare_ he? It was just as bad as Bill's own father thinking he was on drugs because he was having problems, problems which hadn't stopped recently. Ever since he met Robert. They had been sleep related, sure, but it's not as though Freddy Krueger was currently haunting Bill in his dreams. Then again, the slashes on his arm, his hip, and his wrist begged to differ, but that last one had been an accident...

Point was, Bill would have known if it was something as crazy as that...

... right?

"It's j-juh-just a m-muh-movie," Bill tells himself, "F-Fruh-Freddy Krueger isn't r-ruh-real."

The janitor gives him an offended look.

"Well, fuck you then," he mutters to himself, now knowing how the clown felt. "Prick."

Bill was just tired. And crabby. He's had a shitty couple of months and all he wants now is for Robert to hold him and keep him safe. He smiles as his lips start to tingle pleasantly as he thinks of his... friend... thing... whatever they were.

The play in third grade didn't count, so Bill didn't even have his first kiss until this summer. He liked Bev, sure, but she was his friend. He didn't like her like that. Besides, he wasn't dumb. He could tell Ben was enamored with her and the other way around. His knowledge of sex wasn't exactly lacking, though it did mostly stem from horror movies, Richie's banter as though he had actually done something himself (which Bill, Stan, and Eddie all knew he had not), the rumors about Henry and Beverly, a teacher trying to explain it and failing miserably, and Robert himself giving Bill "The Talk". Of which, Bill didn't understand why people made such a big deal out of it. Just like Robert said, it was another part of life.

And the description of it didn't even come close to being as wonderful and when Bill was with Robert in the car, he would like to think that he didn't suck...

... he lowers his eyes, cheeks tinting the barest traces of pink, now figuring that was probably a very wrong word to use in this context.

Point being, he'd like to think he was... okay... at it. Kissing, at the very least. Although he really hadn't expected the rest of it, for all of... that. Still, he smiles, a dazed sort of thing as the air surrounding him becomes that of a person with no regrets. Most people made it out like it was something scary or something awesome but only the "cool kids" got to do it. He hadn't been scared at all and it wasn't just "cool". His heart had been pounding, yes, but it had been exciting. Not scary. Almost like going on a roller coaster for the first time.

Only better.

Way, way better.

He still can't believe he did... that... in his pants, though.

What he mostly can't believe is the fact that right after is when Robert had gotten sick.

He's 99% sure Richie would call that a definite boner killer.

He still didn't understand how "not eating" could make someone, anyone at all, throw up blood and he was half tempted to ask Eddie the next time he saw him, but he didn't want ot invade or reveal Robert's privacy like that. It wasn't anyone's business except Robert's, and he didn't think Eddie would be able to handle that kind of knowledge. Bill was just tired and wanted to stay with Robert, sick or not, even if his dad did beat his ass for staying out overnight.

Then again, his dad was probably passed out drunk.

Bill could only hope. Though he knew the hangover would make his dad all the more pissed off about anything and everything.

He knew it was careless, outright reckless, to be so inconsiderate, but he couldn't help it. His dad scared him. His own dad. His dad was meant to protect him, teach him how to not be afraid, not be the cause of his fear. He was just sick and tired of having to come home at what had to be the most ridiculous curfew ever. All just so his dad could make sure he wasn't doing something stupid. Bill was never one for reckless behavior, so that was just an excuse for the fact that he really wanted to make sure Bill would be there to put dinner on his plate before he was even home from work.

It just wasn't _fair_.

It was summer and Bill was still a kid in so many ways. He was supposed to be out having fun with his friends, not feeling as though he was walking on eggshells around his own father in his own house. Bill had exactly three words for his dad, three words he was quite certain he would never be brave enough, fearless enough, to say.

Unless he had Robert standing right behind him.

"Go fuck yourself," he says aloud.

"Language, young man."

Bill stops in his tracks, almost freezing, when he hears another unfamiliar voice. It isn't the voice itself that scares him, as he can tell instantly it's an old man, it's the fact that when he looks up, he doesn't recognize the hallway he's in.

He realizes then that he's lost and turns towards the old man who had spoken, a rather sad looking fellow in a wheelchair by the window. Sad, because his eyes are tired and old, gray with age like the rest of him, a tank of oxygen sitting next to him with tubes in his nose, and because he's watching the rain with no other company besides a skinny, rather mangy looking black cat that's sitting on his lap, his wrinkly hands absentmindedly petting it as it purred.

He was short and plump, Bill saw, wearing an old blue bathrobe above his hospital gown. his head was balding, only patches of snowy white hair decorating the sides of his head just above his ears. One eye was blind, Bill could tell, as it was glazed over, almost misty, with white. Yet he stares right back at Bill, a look on his face that makes him think of his father.

Paternal, yet scolding.

Before his dad turned into an asshole who scolded Bill for the simplest and dumbest of things.

"S-Suh-Sorry," Bill says, meaning it. "I j-juh-just... it's b-buh-been a b-buh-bad d-duh-day."

The old man chuckles.

"Son, there are no bad days or good days. Just days. Still, a young boy shouldn't be having that kind of language. Especially around an old man. You lost or something?"

"K-Kuh-Kinda," Bill says. "I... I'm l-luh-looking f-fuh-for a friend."

"Aren't we all?" the old man says, still petting the cat. "You're the little fella that came in with the clown, aren't you? He's just down the next hallway, on the left. Or not, I saw him walk past around the same time you got here."

Bill grumbles to himself.

"That clown... that's old Bob Gray, isn't it?"

"Uh, no," Bill says. "It's... R-Ruh-Robert..."

The old man laughs, a bit of a cough echoing after.

"Son, he hates that name. Says it makes him feel old," he says.

"D-Duh-Different g-guh-guy," Bill says. "M-Muh-Mine huh-hates the n-nuh-nickname B-Buh-Bob."

"Huh..."

The old man frowns, looking puzzled, as the cat stares up at Bill, its eyes big and blue and unblinking. The old man even scratches his head, as though he's trying to remember something and quite can't recall.

"Could've... could've sworn..."

"They l-luh-look a l-luh-lot alike," Bill says. "Um... sh-shouldn't y-yuh-you b-buh-be in your r-ruh-room?"

"When you get my age, you get sick of being cooped up in a hospital room all the time," the old man says. "They're talking about transferring me to hospice. One room to go crazier than a tin shithouse in to the next. Without Az, I think that'd be me."

Bill doesn't comment on the swear, but does look down at the cat.

"I d-duh-didn't think c-cuh-cats w-wuh-were allowed in the huh-hospital," he says, approaching the old man. He sits on the open space of the wall just in front of the window, pressing his back against the glass. He doesn't know how much his company means to the old man, and the fact that he's staying. He might not ever. "You know... b-buh-because s-suh-someone m-muh-might b-buh-be allergic."

"I'm not," the old man says. "Besides, he's not the hospital's. He's a stray fella who likes to poke around whenever somebody's about to go. Cats are funny creatures like that. They can be real assholes when they wanna be, but they always know when it's time to go." The old man smiles, his morbid sense of humor reminding Bill almost painfully of Robert. "Lucky me."

Bill blinks.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

He stammers, awkward and nervous.

"Oh... I... I d-duh-don't think it's an exact science..."

The old man just smiles softly.

"It is when you've got lung carcinoma," he says. "Plus, I've seen it happen before." He runs his fingers along the back of the cat's neck, the loud purring echoing down the hallway. "Not this cat but another one sat with that girl, Kersh, when she went. Poor woman, she was never right again after waht happened with her old man."

"The m-muh-murders," Bill says.

"Mm," the old man says. "Figure it's not something to be telling a young boy but, in this town, or anywhere else for that matter, the less you know then the more likely you are to wind up missing or dead." He sighs. "People said it was the animals, the dogs and the tiger, that did it and when they asked her, she wouldn't say. She never told a soul what killed the circus, not even her husband. Some people claim it was a monster, you know. The monster of Derry, Maine."

"D-Duh-Derry huh-has a l-luh-lot of m-muh-monsters."

"True, but not like this one. Some people say she was scared into silence, too afraid of what would happen if she told. That might've been so. She never told a single soul, not even her husband, what happened and I can't blame her for never having children. Some say this town is haunted, you know. Cursed, even. You know old Leroy Hanlon, don't you?"

"Y-Yuh-Yeah, I've m-muh-met huh-him," Bill says. "Huh-His g-gruh-grandson is w-wuh-one of m-muh-my b-buh-best friends."

"It's a shame what happened to his boy," the old man says solemnly. "Bill and Jessica. I remember The Black Spot in '62. Before that was those fools in the Bradly Gang, back in '35. And before that was the Ironworks explosion in '08. All of those poor kids, 88 in total... and now they're going missing... left and right..." He sighs. "Gotta tell you, though, not as many have gone missing this year as they used to. Can't say anyone will really miss Richard Macklin or that Hockstetter boy. Every 27 years, though. It's a cursed cycle, let me tell you."

Bill lowers his eyes at the mention of Patrick, and can't find it in himself to argue about Richard Macklin. The old man shakes his head, clucking his tongue disapprovingly.

"That woman... lost her boy but only cares about her husband. I pity that other boy of hers."

"S-Suh-So do I," Bill says. "I've m-muh-met huh-her. M-Muh-My l-luh-little brother is f-fruh-friends with D-Duh-Dorsey. W-Wuh-We w-wuh-walked huh-him huh-home from the c-circus and she spuh-spit at m-muh-my f-fuh-feet and t-tuh-told m-muh-me to stay away from huh-him. S-Suh-Said to t-tuh-tell P-Puh-Pennywise the s-suh-same thing."

The old man stares at him with wide eyes.

"Thought you said it wasn't Bob..."

"N-Nuh-No, it's... huh-his name is P-Puh-Pennywise, t-tuh-too."

"Only one clown is named Pennywise," the old man says, almost angrily. "And that's Bob Gray. Not some monster wearing a clown's face."

"R-Ruh-Robert isn't a m-muh-monster... j-juh-just... huh-he knew B-Buh-Bob Gray, t-tuh-too..."

The old man sighs as he settles himself.

"Pardon me, son, it's just... I haven't heard that name in so long... and after Bob and the circus..." he sighs, chuckling sadly. "I used to love it, you know. When I was a boy about your age. I know... that was decades ago... but, it really was wonderful there. They were all different, those people, mostly in looks. It didn't matter if you were tall, small, skinny or fat, or had a funny face, you were welcome. I remember it."

He smiles, so fondly and sadly, a look of remembrance on his face.

"Oh, I remember the animals. Not as many as people say your clown's got but just enough. Dogs who'd perform the funniest tricks, a baby elephant, and even a tiger..."

"R-Ruh-Robert huh-has V-Vuh-Vitaly," Bill says, smiling. "A S-Suh-Siberian t-tuh-tiger. He's b-buh-beautiful."

The old man smiles knowingly.

"I'll bet. Oh, but I always remember walking into those tents and smelling the food," he says. "Peanuts, cotton candy, hotdogs, and popcorn... I loved getting a balloon... and there was Bob, always happy to hand them out to the children."

Bill tilts his head, faintly curious.

"Huh-How old w-wuh-was huh-he? B-Buh-Bob Gray?"

"Not very old," the old man says. "'Bout thirty or so. Kersh was just a young'un at the time. Same as me. About your age, I think. How old are you?"

"Thuh-Thirteen."

"She was about eleven, give or take," the old man says. He sighs, gravelly, coughing a bit at the end. "I'd say something abotu God when talking about that, but I promise you this; God was not there on that day.

Bill frowns at that, thinking of Robert.

 _God's_ _not_ _here_ _today_ , _Billy_. _I_ _was_ _forsaken_ _a_ _long_ _time_ _ago_.

"They say it was one of Derry's most grisly murders," the old man says, his eyes wide and his tone blunt. "That's a fucking understatement. Some tried to say it was the animals, tried to blame it on the dogs and the tigers, and had them put down just because of it, but that wasn't the case. No dog or even tiger has teeth like that."

"A b-buh-bear, m-muh-maybe?"

"My ass," the old man says. "Others tried to say it was one of the freaks turned cannibal. That wasn't right either. But not unlike everything else in this town, it turned cold and everyone's forgotten about it. Everyone that either hasn't the brains to remember or they're dying out. Like me."

"You don't know that," Bill says, not even stuttering.

The old man chuckles softly.

"Son, when you get to be my age, and you will, you'll know, too. I'm 94 years old. If it isn't the cancer, it's age taking me back to the weeds. Azrael is just the icing on the cake. I know it's my time. I just wish I could be at the circus one last time," he says. He smiles so sadly. "I miss it. Not a day goes by that I don't think about it. About Bob and his girl, little Penny. About the circus and every time the curse reawakens in Derry, every 27 years. Makes a man wonder why it's not so bad this time around. Not as man kids have up and vanished."

"M-Muh-Maybe there n-nuh-never r-ruh-really w-wuh-was a curse," Bill says. "J-Juh-Just a l-luh-lot of b-buh-bad l-luh-luck."

"Uh huh," the old man says, not sounding at all like he believed what Bill was saying. "Just do an old man a favor, will you? Don't waste your years like I did. I had a wife once, but no kids. And she went long before I did. We had our first day at the circus, you know. Ol' Bob gray handing out balloons... always happy colors, pinks and yellows, greens and blues... never red... I always wanted a red one."

"R-Ruh-Robert has all of those," Bill says.

The old man smiles knowingly at Bill.

"I see it, you know. The moony eyes and sunshine smile you get when talking about him. Must be some clown. Even if he did still Bob's name."

"He is," Bill says, smiling that smile. "But I don't think he s-stuh-stole it... He, uh, huh-had a l-luh-little accident... that's k-kuh-kind of w-wuh-why we're huh-here... Not that he wanted to come, but..."

"Ain't that funny," the old man says before coughing, almost hacking. Bill feels bad. He runs his thumb and index finger along the cat's ear. "You know why I call him Azrael, don't you?" He smiles, quite sardonically. "Angel of death and retribution. I'm kinda ironic like that. He don't like it, but he still sits with me."

"That's an understatement," Bill says, managing a smile. "Do... do you want m-muh-me to call the n-nuh-nurse?"

"Might as well," the old man says. "She's a funny lady, too. Come to think of it. Her and Azrael, they're always with the patients when they go... Run along now, you have a Robert to get back to..." He looks up at the ceiling as he says his next words, Bill going to stand, "Wonder if it's like floating. It'd be nice if it was."

"I don't know," Bill says. "P-Puh-People aren't exactly b-buh-balloons."

"Sure they are," the old man says. "It's funny, isn't it? Balloons start out little, like people, and you breath life into them. They drift about for a while and sometimes they just float away. Strange, but nice... I can't help but wonder what you see."

Bill isn't sure why he does it, but he sets the chocolate bars and cokes down to take the old man's hand. The conversation isn't really bothering him, because it's just something that happens, kind of like life, and he feels sad for the old man.

"I d-duh-don't know," Bill says. "But I'm sure it's nice there. I'll b-buh-bet you'll s-suh-see you're w-wuh-wife again... B-Buh-Bob Gray and P-Puh-Penny K-Kuh-Kersh, t-tuh-too."

"Oh, that'd be lovely," he says, reclining back in his chair with a heavy sigh. "I don't know if there's an upstairds or a downstairs... I'd like to think I lived a good life. It ain't Hell I'm afraid of, son... It's just... whether or not there's anything afterwards. I don't remember anything from before, so what if there isn't anything else after? I don't know if it's like sleep or if it's just dark... Even when you know it's coming, it's still scary..." he holds Bill's hand tightly, his eyes shining with tears. "I'm sorry you had to see this, son. It's not an easy thing, dying. It's even worse to do it alone."

"It's okay," Bill says, smiling a watery smile. "It's just another p-puh-part of l-luh-life. L-Luh-Like R-Ruh-Robert says. It's j-juh-just something that s-suh-seem l-luh-like it's scary, b-buh-but it isn't r-ruh-really." His smile is soft as he continues. "And... I don't think we're ever really alone when we go. We always have our memories, don't we? And, even if some people forget over time, I'd like to think at the very end, we'll remember them again. Memories will always be the one thing we'll always have, whether good or bad."

The old man smiles, heartened and hopeful.

"Yeah, I guess we do," he says. " "Funny man, Bob Gray. You remind me of him, actually. Oh, he was a shiner, alright. You could... you could always see it... in his eyes. You've got it, too." He coughs, heavily and sickly, and yet not once does Bill let go of his hand. He groans, obviously in pain. "Ain't that a kick in the nuts? Spending my final hours with a boy I don't even know, and a cat who doesn't even like the name I gave him." He laughs and coughs at the same time. "Didn't catch your name, son."

"B-Buh-Bill."

The old man laughs again.

"W-Wuh-What's s-suh-so f-fuh-funny?"

"Ain't that a kick in the pants?" he says. "That's my name, too. Bill."

He laughs despite the heavy, full-bodied coughs that make his shoulders wrack. He groans again as he blinks through blurry vision. His eyes widen, however, when he spots it, just behind the boy's head, floating towards the both of them, bright and red and _shiny_. He lifts up his free hand, the cat falling down on its side as it was no longer being petted.

"Well, I'll be goddamned," he says as it floats closer, a smile on his face as he smells those wonderful smells of the circus, hears the joyous laughter of the children and he swears, he honestly swears, that he hears old Bob Gray, as the Great Pennywise the Dancing Clown, laughing alongside them. There is no malice to the laughter, only the joys and hopes that the laughter of a child can bring. "Guess we all do float up there after all."

And he takes the balloon, his wrinkled fingers curling around the string as he holds it close, Bill frowning in confusion as he doesn't see anything. The old man reclines back in his chair, closing his eyes and holding the balloon close as the nurse comes down the hallway, Bill looking away just as a bit of steam rises out of the old man's mouth, his final breath leaving him as the balloon floats away.

"Time to go, Billy," the nurse says, smiling. "Let an old man rest in peace."

"He's g-guh-going to b-buh-be okay, though, r-ruh-right?" Bill asks as the old man lets go of his hand.

The nurse nods, her eyes lighting up with something Bill knew was good.

"I don't know much about it myself, but..." she says softly, "... we go on. Run along now, and I better not see you around here again."

Bill nods as he grabs his items and departs, the nurse smiling as she pushes open the window the old man was sitting by, watching alongside the cat as the red balloon floats away out the window, floating away into the dark sky and disappearing into whatever world lie beyond.

The cat and the nurse, their eyes shine.

Bill sighs as he enters Rober'ts room, closing the curtain behind himself and wondering if the nurse had taken any blood samples and he wasn't sure considering the fact that there wasn't an IV hookup in Robert's arm, nor was there so much as a cotton ball and a piece of tape on the inside of either elbow.

"Here's your c-cuh-cavities," Bill says as he pulls his chair back up to the hospital bed. "D-Duh-Did sh-she g-guh-give you anything?"

"I had a sandwich," Robert says, running his tongue along the corner of his mouth before running his thumb along it. Robert's eyes are also shining, Bill can't help but notice. He gives the clown a funny look. "Don't ask, don't tell."

Bill just rolls his eyes as he hands over the can of coke and the chocolate bar, watching as Robert takes a small square and suckles on it. He swallows, averting his eyes as he thinks about where those lips have been. A small smirk flickers on the corners of Robert's mouth as he gets the taste of copper out of his mouth, chocolate being one of the few things he was able to consume without problems.

Yes, not even eldritch abominations were immune to the delight that was chocolate.

"N-Nuh-No IV?"

'Nah, I'll be fine with just the sandwich," Robert says, eyes glittering with humor that even Bill can tell is somehow morbid. He holds up a little cup o fred jell-o. "She did give me this." He slides it towards Bill. "Eat it."

Bill sighs, unimpressed, having thought that the nurse was the one decent one as he opens his chocolate bar.

"I k-kuh-kicked an orderly," Bill tells him solemnly. "In the n-nuh-nuts."

"Good, I'm proud," Robert says bluntly, helping himself to another chocolate square before cracking open the can of coke. "I promise you, if we left now they wouldn't bat an eye."

"No," Bill says, his voice stern. "Unless the d-duh-doctor s-suh-says so, you're n-nuh-not l-luh-leaving."

"The doctor hasn't even come in yet and I'm _bored_ ," Robert says, trying not to whine on that last word.

It's partially true. His influence kept the doctor from coming in as well as the rest of the nurses that weren't that one persistent bitch. Although he had to give it to Bill, had they not come to the hospital, Robert wouldn't have gotten that quick hunt. He's still going after the boys, of course, but that's for latter. He grins as he licks the blood and chocolate from his teeth, thinking of the nurse. She's new to town, he knows, and was a particularly keen girl. Quite alike Bill. She knew about the orderly, but couldn't do much about it, so what happened was a win-win. It wasn't her fault, and it certainly wasn't Robert's, that the orderly was a piece of shit. It wasn't as though Bill was the first person he tried that shit with. He takes a long swig of the coke, swishing it around in his mouth to get out the taste of blood. It works for the most part. She also wanted him to help the old man in his time of need, funny that Bill would catch him first, though.

"She said I'll be fine, Bill," Robert says, knowing it was true. He didn't need a human with the shining to tell him that. He points to his own face, which is still mostly covered by the greasepaint. "See? Not tired anymore."

Bill tilts his head, almost catlike, faintly curious, when he does see that Robert looks rather chipper, as though he's perked himself up with a coffee or some other kind of caffeinated drink. Without the IV, though, Bill was confused. As a matter of fact, the bags were even gone from under his eyes, and it actually looked like there was a bit more fat on his face.

"Y-Yuh-You m-muh-must h-huh-have the w-wuh-weirdest b-buh-body or m-muh-my eyes are g-guh-going if a s-suh-sandwich w-wuh-woke you up that f-fuh-fast."

"Your eyes are fine. And so am I," Robert says. "Now, where to next?"

Bill smiles, shrugging as he takes a bite of his chocolate bar and a sip of his coke.

"I d-duh-dunno... h-huh-home?"

"Where's home?"

"I don't know," Bill says softly. "I... I d-duh-don't w-wuh-want to g-guh-go b-buh-back to that huh-house... were you g-guh-going huh-home?"

Robert gives him a funny look.

"I don't have a home," he tells Bill.

Bill frowns.

"W-Wuh-What about N-Nuh-Neibolt?"

"Neibolt is just a house, Bill," Robert says. "It's nice to look at, sure, if not a little weird because of the pink bricks... not my idea, I assure you, Georgie and Roberta are persistent little assholes." Bill lets out a laugh at that. "I don't know. It's just a place to rest for a while. A long while, at that," he says, his voice growing soft, rather sad. "I've never really had a home. Most say home is where the heart is."

"W-Wuh-Where's your h-huh-heart at?"

Robert gives him a sideways look.

Bill holds his gaze, his heart doing that funny pounding again.

"Oh."

Silence.

Yet it still isn't at all awkward.

Bill doesn't think it's possible, for him to feel all that awkward around Robert. Shy, sure, but not awkward. If that made any sense at all. Bill smiles as he sets down the coke and the chocolate bar, taking hold of Robert's hand.

"I... I have no regrets," Bill says honestly, not a stutter in those words. Robert's eyes flicker. "I... I know it's n-nuh-not n-nuh-normal, buh-but... y-yuh-you're m-muh-my friend. W-Wuh-Whatever this is, I w-wuh-want it. I... I huh-haven't b-buh-been s-suh-so huh-happy in a l-luh-long t-tuh-time. I huh-have m-muh-my friends and G-Guh-Georgie b-buh-but I'm always scared." His eyes well with tears, glassing over with pink as his lips twitch and tremble. "M-Muh-Maybe it's s-suh-selfish of m-mu-me b-buh-but I r-ruh-really l-luh-like y-yuh-you, a huh-whole l-luh-lot. And I appreciate huh-how m-muh-much you actually g-guh-give a shit. It's k-kuh-kind of l-luh-like w-wuh-what you said, w-wuh-we could p-puh-part w-wuh-ways d-duh-down the r-ruh-road... I d-duh-don't want to think that we could because I w-wuh-want you in m-muh-my future..."

He sniffles, smiling a watery smile.

"M-Muh-Maybe I'm s-suh-supposed to huh-have a b-buh-beautiful w-wuh-wife and l-luh-lots of k-kuh-kids or m-muh-maybe j-juh-just w-wuh-one or n-nuh-none, I don't know. That's the p-puh-point, it's the f-fuh-future, n-nuh-nobody r-ruh-really knows what's going to huh-happen. It's n-nuh-not written in stone or on p-puh-paper... I don't think F-Fuh-Fate works like that."

Robert sighs as he takes hold of Bill's hand, enjoying the warm touch.

"For me, Fate is just what you call it when you don't know the name of the person screwing you over," Robert tells him. "It's not the age that bothers me, you're more mature than adults in their forties that live in this town." He smiles, sincere, "I... I see you, I see your potential, the way your eyes were shining when you told that story, you think you're not very brave because we didn't take those losers tonight or because you can't stand up to your father but... you're the bravest person I've ever met. I wasn't lying when I told you that. I don't want to take that from you."

"B-Buh-But you w-wuh-wouldn't," Bill says, confused. "Huh-How w-wuh-would you do that? You're the w-wuh-one who g-guh-gave me the t-tuh-typewriter. Y-Yuh-You're the only w-wuh-one, at least w-wuh-when considering adults, that is p-puh-pushing me towards anything for the b-buh-better."

Robert closes his eyes.

How sad it was for him, to see the Losers all grown up. To see them grow and change and become strong, stronger than It.

 _You're all grown up_.

Those were the final words of his twin, spoken so sadly and fearfully as Its' heart beat with Its' fear before being crushed in the hands of the Losers Club. Five out of seven, of course, as both Eddie and Stan were already dead. Stan from slitting his wrists in the bathtub, his fear overpowering him. That was not a strategic move. It was fear. No ifs, ands, or buts. And Eddie from getting stabbed in the back with a monstrous appendage and having it pop out of his chest.

Robert wonders if that's going to become a recurring theme, here, and hopes not.

He'll miss them, the Losers, as they grow and change and become adults.

They'll live happy lives, he promises them. Even Bill.

But...

He holds Bill's hand tightly.

He robbed him of a happily ever after with a beautiful wife once before, he doesn't want to do it again. And even when he tells Bill the possibility of a wife and kids, the boy practically snubs it. It's in Bill's thoughts, what a beautiful wife would look like, and she does vaguely resemble Beverly, as she and Audra do look a lot alike as adults, with blue eyes and ginger hair, but even when Bill thinks of those possibilities, his mind settles back on Robert.

He isn't sure if he should feel happy or guilty for that.

Happy, because he wants this, too. Wants his mate.

And guilty, because he still feels like he's taking away from Bill. That, and they'll have to say goodbye by the end of this summer. Whether or not they'll say hello again 27 years from now is hard to say. Unless Bill would let Robert keep him, which he wants to, but what about the boy's future?

What about Georgie?

With his other hand, Bill awkwardly scratches the back of his neck, his cheeks burning like fire.

Robert's eyes widen with faint surprise as the boy's thoughts reveal themselves and he knows what Bill is going to say before he even speaks.

"I've b-buh-been huh-having these druh-dreams... about the t-tuh-two of us... in the r-ruh-rain... k-kuh-kissing," Bill whispers, so very shy, as though he was sharing a deep secret. Not a dirty one, however. "And... I really like those k-kuh-kinds of dreams even if they're strange..." he lets out a little laugh. "You always huh-have these b-buh-big f-fuh-fucking w-wuh-wings, l-luh-like a giant crow's or m-muh-maybe an angel's... and all of these arms... like a s-spuh-spider. And you're always in the clown costume."

Robert stares, his eyes wide and unblinking.

Quite catlike.

Bill shrugs, knowing how weird it sounded.

"I know the age g-guh-gap is a l-luh-little w-wuh-weird and it's n-nuh-not l-luh-like we cuh-could b-buh-be l-luh-like E-E-Eddie and R-Ruh-Richie... c-cuh-coming out l-luh-like that... b-buh-because p-puh-people s-suh-suck and the g-guh-gap b-buh-but... I almost g-guh-got j-juh-jumped by a orderly n-nuh-not even a f-fuh-full f-fuh-five m-muh-minutes ago," he says, scowling. "He offered m-muh-me drugs and s-suh-sex, t-tuh-telling m-muh-me that I couldn't say I didn't w-wuh-want it and t-tuh-told m-muh-me n-nuh-nobody would b-buh-believe a sluh-slut. Even had the b-buh-balls to b-bruh-bring you up. He even tried to l-luh-look for track m-muh-marks on my arms and leg. You aren't s-suh-some d-duh-douche l-luh-like that. You actually c-cuh-care."

"Of course I do," Robert says. "And don't be surprised if you never see that guy again. Dead or alive."

Bill smiles sadly.

"You know, I should be b-buh-bothered b-buh-by that b-buh-but... I think I stopped caring... at least about p-puh-people l-luh-like that... D-Duh-Don't d-duh-do s-suh-something that'll g-guh-get you thrown in j-juh-jail."

"Deal. So long as you find a better word than 'boyfriend' to use," Robert says.

Bill stares at him, face burning.

"These walls are paper thin, Bill," Robert says. "And even when you think people aren't listening, always assume they are. You'll regret it otherwise."

"I'll r-ruh-remember that," Bill says softly. "So... you d-duh-don't l-luh-like the w-wuh-word? B-Buh-Boyfriend?"

"I'm hardly a boy, Bill," Robert says, smiling with morbid amusement. He lowers his eyes. "I... I thought I knew what I wanted, where I wanted to be and what I wanted to do... then you came along and turned everything upside down..."

"Is that a b-buh-bad thing?" Bill asks, insecure.

"Not at all. If anything, you've been the one good thing about this life," Robert says. "Before, I was all alone. Until just recently, I've never had people I could call my friends. Sure, age is a weird thing, I still don't get it half the time, but... if I'm honest, you and those Losers we call friends are all I've got in this world. It's probably a dick move on my part but, I don't want to lose that."

Bill smiles, childish and sweet.

"It's n-nuh-not a s-suh-selfish to w-wuh-want to k-kuh-keep the f-fruh-friends you've g-guh-got. Especially if y-yuh-you've n-nuh-never huh-had friends b-buh-before. J-Juh-Just ask B-Buh-Ben or B-Buh-Bev or even M-Muh-Mike," Bill lifts up Robert's hand, pressing his lips to the knuckles, unsure of why he does it but he does. Not that the clown is complaining, mind you. "W-Wuh-Whatever huh-happens, huh-happens. And it's f-fuh-funny, I've always thought the s-suh-same about you. That you were the b-buh-best thing to huh-happen to m-muh-me after the crappy y-yuh-year I've huh-had. You d-duh-didn't t-tuh-take G-Guh-Georgie and you could have. Could have snatched huh-him away and w-wuh-we w-wuh-would've buh-been n-nuh-none the w-wuh-wiser. Buh-But you didn't. Because you're good. And yuh-you're the wuh-one adult who isn't a p-puh-piece of sh-shit. Our friendship alone is suh-something guh-good. W-Wuh-Why should age r-ruh-ruin a g-guh-good thing b-buh-between us?"

"It shouldn't."

"Exactly... sometimes I wonder if you're just a kid in an adult's body."

Robert raises an eyebrow at that, unsure if he should be offended or not.

"W-Wuh-What I m-muh-mean is... m-muh-maybe since you didn't g-guh-get the childhood you d-duh-deserved, y-yuh-you treat the k-kuh-kids n-nuh-nicely b-buh-because there's still s-suh-some part of you that's still a k-kuh-kid in a r-ruh-rough situation and you d-duh-don't w-wuh-want the s-suh-same to be s-suh-said for those who can't huh-help themselves... m-muh-maybe you're j-juh-just proof that we d-duh-don't really l-luh-lose ourselves when we grow up. That when we g-grow and change, we change for the b-buh-better."

Robert scoffs, smiling with disbelief even though he knows Bill's words are sincere.

"Now I know you're just making shit up."

Bill laughs, childish and happy.

He smiles, soft and sweet, as he plays with Robert's fingers.

"Y-Yuh-You w-wuh-wanna g-guh-get out of huh-here?"

"I've wanted to get out of here since we got here," Robert retorts. "You wanna see a movie?"

Bill shakes his head.

"Theater's closed."

"That won't stop me, I assure you," Robert says.

"You can't b-bruh-break into the theater," Bill says.

"Wanna bet?"

Bill raises an eyebrow at Robert's grin.

"Y-Yuh-You'd g-guh-get arrested, I'm n-nuh-not b-buh-bailing you out of jail."

"Tiffany could do that," Robert says, laughing a little.

"W-Wuh-We'll g-guh-go t-tuh-tomorrow or s-suh-something.

"Bill, it _is_ tomorrow," Robert points out.  
Bill glances at the clock.

"Oh."

Robert gives him a pointed look.

"W-Wuh-We're n-nuh-not j-juh-just g-guh-going to w-wuh-walk out of the huh-hospital," Bill says. "If the n-nuh-nurse g-guh-gives you the okay, then w-wuh-we will."

"You're a pain in the ass," Robert says. "But you're my pain in the ass."

"And you're still a d-duh-dick," Bill says, smiling.

Robert shrugs as he pulls Bill closer. Not with the painful grip that the orderly had, but with a gentle tug. Bill stands, accepting the tender hold on his hands. He's the one who initiates it, who carefully crawls onto the hospital bed and lies on top. He smiles down at Robert, mindful not to accidentally sit on his stomach, and instead seats himself on Robert's thighs, his knees on either side of Robert's. That same electric thrum is in the air as he lowers his face down to Robert's, one hand holding onto the clown's as the other presses against that painted face. Lips part as they meet.

Bill sighs into the kiss as the stink of hospital seemingly melts away, replaced by the pleasanter smells of the circus and he smiles a bit as he tastes chocolate on Robert's tongue as well as the coca cola. A wet tongue slides against his lips before going into his mouth, Bill trembling at the feeling at first but welcoming it wholeheartedly. He feels that tongue sliding across his teeth, well aware that Robert had to taste chocolate and soda just the same, although...

He could taste something else in Robert's mouth, but it didn't taste at all like any kind of sandwich Bill ever had before. Even one from the hospital. Which sucked, of course. He tilts his head even as he deepens the kiss, because what is that?

Robert isn't focusing and Bill is trying to figure out what he's tasting, so it would make sense that neither one would hear the door opening.

"Okay, Mr. Gray, you're papers are all set. You ready to go home?" the nurse asks, holding up the clipboard with the discharge papers before looking at the scene before her. She raises an eyebrow when she sees the scene before her and most would probably freak out, but she's not most. Quite alike Bill, actually. She instead smiles and leaves the clipboard and pen on the bedside table. As she departs, she murmurs, "Guess you're already there."

Bill pulls away, smacking his lips at the taste of chocolate and soda and the other thing. It's faint, but there, and he can't quite place it. He doesn't think he wants too, either, because that is a weird tasting sandwich. Robert cups the side of his face.

"Junkyard?" he asks, smiling a knowing smile.

Bill smiles, too, clarity in his eyes.

"J-Juh-Junkyard."

**********

It's pouring out. The sky is cloudy and dark, not a single star in the sky and the moon is hidden away. A 1958 Plymouth Fury, in perfect condition, sits in the junkyard late at night amidst broken down cars that have been stripped bare for their parts. To the outsider's perspective, it would seem strange that a brand new vehicle would be sitting alone in such a place, and it would be even more strange, if one peered into the back windows, to see a grown man with most of his face painted like a clown's, the mouth and chin mostly smeared and cleaned, lying on the backseat with a young boy, no older and no younger than thirteen, lying on top of him, both covered by a cozy blanket.

It would be odd, mostly because people in the little town of Derry, Maine would realize instantly that the boy is Bill Denbrough, Zack and Sharon's boy, and the man was the clown who, supposedly, just moved into town in late October. Both who, according to the timeframe, had never technically "met" until just recently, back in the beginning of June and it was the fifth of July already. Even more strange was the fact that the clown was sleeping, because anyone who knew him for what and what he truly was would realize he was slumbering away when he wasn't supposed to be. His sleep was deep and content, peaceful even, both arms wrapped around Bill's small body protectively.

A breathy moan escapes Bill's lips as he sleeps, Robert stirring slightly. His brows furrow for a moment, tensing for a moment, before his breathing evens, though a being like him requires no air at all. Bill, even when in his deep sleep, clings to the clown's shirt underneath the blanket, dreaming a dream so pretty and blissfully unaware that he was causing the clown to do the same. Not a single nightmare haunts Robert that night.

Although, someone -- or perhaps something -- does visit the junkyard that night alongside the car, the clown, and the boy, not that any of the three notice.

The creature's fur is white as snow, though there are hints of gray, faded over. There is red paint around the creature's mouth, painted into a red clown's smile, a shiny black key with a button shaped end sitting between its large teeth. A long wormlike tail swishes on its bottom as it darts between the cars, purposefully avoiding the Plymouth Fury.

Even by normal standards, the rat is huge. Suddenly, it stops and turns, as though gazing at nothing at all or something in particular (it was difficult to tell as it had fat, black buttons for eyes instead of normal, beady rat eyes), and perhaps if it had "real" eyes, and had anyone seen the rat, they might've thought it had been winking. Its' mouth even stretches into a smile around the key, though it is a smile that is far too wicked to be something natural. It quickly scurries away, disappearing underneath the junked cars.

It dares not approach the boy.

Not when he was protected by not one, but two monsters.

A beast and Its' car.

The rat isn't stupid.

It, too, can smell the alpha's scent.

The sugary, sweet fluffy scent of cotton candy, the salty and bitter scents of peanuts, the pungent stink of hotdogs, the buttery, salty popcorn, and most of all, the sweet, sweet smell of cinnamon. Unlike the boy, however, the rat could smell the tinny reek of blood and the thick stench of something moldy, almost like death and decay and a sewer system.

That long tail disappears behind a refrigerator unit, a gleam in the rat's button eyes. Bill simply sighs and smiles in his sleep, dreaming away as a shooting star zooms across the weeping sky. In his dreams, he makes a wish.

One can only hope it'll come true.

Bill smiles sleepily as he opens his eyes. He's incredibly warm and cozy where he's at even though Robert's touch is cold, but not exactly unpleasant. He looks up at the clown, who is still sleeping away, looking so peaceful. Bill's smile turns loving even though he knows it's strange. He might not have known Robert that long, but there was just something else about him. Something that just made everything make sense. Robert said he saw Bill's light, and saw how the people of Derry wanted to snuff it and steal if rom him, but Bill thinks it's the opposite. Robert seems more like a light in the dark world that Bill finds himself in. He takes hold of Robert's hand, pressing the palm and fingers of his own against it.

He can see how different they are in size, but he feels something, more than just a cold hand. He cards his fingers through Robert's.

It's funny, he thinks, how life works sometimes. It sucks, a whole lot of the time, showing how truly unfair it could be, and other times, good things would come in small doses. Small, but just enough to make things better. And for Bill, Derry might suck, but Robert was good.

With pink cheeks, he presses a sweet, almost chaste, kiss to the corner of Robert's mouth, murmured words passing his lips before he settles himself back down, his temple and ear pressed against Robert's chest as he holds onto the clown's hand.

And as he falls back asleep, he smiles happily as he hears it.

Rhythmic and slow, but steady and so very lovely.

A heartbeat.

Robert's heartbeat.

Hours later, Bill is the first to awake, his eyelids fluttering as the morning light peeks in through the car's windows. Bill sighs, snuggling closer into the cold body pressed against his back, smiling a dork's smile as he does even though his limbs are screaming at him to stretch after being in the car for so long. He nearly cocoons himself in the blanket, like a caterpillar in a chrysalis, as though he can force himself to go back to sleep and stay asleep for another good hour or so. He feels comfortable, despite his protesting limbs, and he feels safe. He doesn't want to move from his...

... well, he supposes _nest_ would be a good word to use.

Whispering is what makes him reopen his eyes, the boy frowning curiously when he realizes it's Robert. He looks up, turning his head a little, to see that handsome, painted face, though the makeup is still smeared, Bill wondering why Robert didn't clean the rest of it off before they went to the hospital, and he smiles when he realizes Robert isn't actually speaking to him, but he's talking in his sleep. It's kind of cute, he thinks, in a silly way. He's halfway on his side and his back, Robert, while hugging Bill close to him as though he's a particularly large teddy bear.

Bill shifts ever so slightly, carefully turning over so that he can press his front against Robert's, mindful not to accidentally slip off the seats and fall onto the floor, and his smile stretches, becoming soft, at the sight of that sleeping, painted face.

His brows are furrowed, knitting together almost, and he murmurs to himself and Bill's heart flutters, like a butterfly's wings, as he watches. He has yet to realize he's let go of Robert's hand, hence why the clown dreams what he does. And Bill's lips quirk with faint amusement as he catches snippets of whatever dream Robert is having, of whomever Robert is dreaming about and is talking to in his sleep.

"Stop letting them use balloons to creep him out," Robert mumbles before leaning closer to Bill, his hand absentmindedly searching for Bill's, a red tipped nose pressing into the boy's hair. It was obvious Robert was seeking his warmth. "I said _you_ could have fun, not those two."

Bill bites his lower lip to force down the grin that wants to break free despite the fact that he doesn't know who Robert is talking about and he doesn't understand how anyone could use balloons to creep someone out. He hasn't a clue who Robert is talking to or who he's talking about, but he doesn't care either. It's a moment he doesn't think he'll have another chance to see, and he wants to make it last.

"Don't call me a pussy for waiting," Robert mumbles. "Those little shits will get theirs, you watch."

Bill raises an eyebrow at that, wondering if Robert was somehow dreaming about last night. Bill isn't an expert in dreams, only horror movies about a dream demon, but he isn't swayed. Also, who'd be calling Robert... that word? He presses his hand to Robert's face, palm against a cheek, and the clown smiles at the touch.

Bill gazes around the outside of the car, the morning sun beaming in through the car windows. It's still damp outside, he can tell, from last night's rain, but he doesn't mind a little mud. It's still early in the morning, the sun just starting to peek through the clouds, and for some reason, despite not knowing the exact time, Bill doesn't care.

He knows he should, since kids have been going missing and his dad will be pissed if he finds out Bill was out all night without permission, not that his dad has been letting him hang out with his friends for longer than 4:00 pm, but still. He wasn't lying to Robert when he said he wanted to be like the other kids who got to have fun with their friends, enjoy their summers, for longer than what their overbearing, drunken dad's had in mind. He knows for a fact that he wouldn't have done something this incredibly stupid if Georgie hadn't gone with Johnny for the night. That much was clear.

Bill bites his lip as pressure begins to surface in his stomach. Reluctantly, very reluctantly, he tries to shift away from Robert, but those strong arms hold him all the more tightly, clinging to him like a lifeline, and he finds his face pressed against that strong chest. He isn't complaining, obviously, but he shifts with discomfort as the pressure increases, cursing himself for drinking that coke lats night.

He has to pee... really bad, actually... and Robert won't let him go.

And Bill would feel horrible for waking him up from such a nice sleep.

Yet Robert's face shifts funnily, as though his dream as suddenly changes, or he's on the verge of waking up but is still stuck somewhere in between being awake and staying asleep.

"Mine..." Robert murmurs into Bill's hair.

"W-Wuh-Well, y-yuh-yeah, b-buh-but..." Bill whispers, trying to move away once more but those powerful arms tighten their grip. Not to the point that Bill would be uncomfortable or even in pain, but Bill really has to go. "R-Ruh-Robert, w-wuh-wake up..."

"Mm.."

Bill bites his lower lip, hard, before gritting his teeth.

He has to go.

Now.

"C-Cuh-Come on... w-wuh-wake up..."

Robert's face changes again, only there's a sadness in his sleepy countenance. As well as anger.

"It's not like that and you know it..." Robert murmurs in his sleep, holding Bill all the more protectively. "Patrick got exactly what he deserved... and they'll get theirs... don't act like you aren't curious."

Bill stiffens despite the throbbing pressure in his lower body. He knows it's silly because Robert probably doesn't even know what the hell he's saying, and Patrick is a pretty common name, or so Bill guesses, but Bill only knows one Patrick who, as far as he was concerned, had a whole lot coming to him...

... but Patrick was missing...

... and Bill's nightmare about him was of him getting eaten.

What he deserved, he guessed?

But it was just a dumb, really fucked up, nightmare...

... wasn't it?

"He hurt him," Robert mumbles, his anger obviously growing as he twitches in his sleep.

Okay...

... so maybe Bill was just being stupid and jumping to half-assed conclusions. Maybe the person Robert was referring to wasn't Patrick Hockstetter at all, but was maybe one of the kids who had attacked Adrian and Don at the fair... and the leader was also named Patrick? That made sense, sure...

Yet Bill can't help the uneasy feeling that settles in his stomach as he tries to pry himself from Robert's grip.

"Stop it..." Robert mumbles as Bill presses his thighs together, biting his lips and trying to wiggle like a worm, one in a bird's grip, without accidentally pissing himself. "Stop it..."

"R-Ruh-Robert..." Bill says, his whisper high in pitch and desperate. He lightly smacks Robert's hand repeatedly as he squirms, his legs shaking. "W-Wuh-Wake up, d-duh-dammit..."

Robert didn't awaken, however. As a matter of fact, he instead started to mumble something in that language Bill didn't understand, though he wasn't singing that lovely song. He was spewing curses by the sound of it, profanities forged by his anger, and just as Bill manages to wriggle an arm out of Robert's grasp to reach for the door handle, he would swear he thought he heard his name as well as "Maturin" somewhere in there. He manages to grab the handle and pull and it pops open just as Robert snarls, his entire face changing something vicious.

Something deadly.

Something protective.

Bill doesn't know what he's saying, because he speaks in that other language, but the closest English translation is;

"You can't have him!"

If Bill was a more easily frightened person, or had a weaker bladder, he might've honestly pissed his pants right then and there when Robert suddenly jerked up, letting go of the small body underneath his own, obviously startled by the noise of the car's door popping open and terrified of whatever nightmare he had, but there was something else.

Bill would blame it on the trick of the light, the sudden yellow flashing he would swear he saw in Robert's eyes, an almost ominous, warning color, and his heart seemed to jump up into his throat, as though sitting on the back of his tongue and screaming bloody murder like a cartoon, his eyes widening with shock and even panic, when Robert looks down at him, not an ounce of sunlight touching that face. Bill can't even pant, can't even let out a whine of fright, when Robert moves his head, blinking with confusion and fear, and he sees that beautiful starlight blue rather than ominous yellow.

A trick of the light, that's all it was, Bill thinks.

There was just one small problem, two actually;

Bill wasn't delusional or stupid, and the sunlight hadn't been touching Robert's face when he saw that. He feels a hint of fear, wondering if his mind was starting to go and was purposefully taunting him, and that's what he's afraid of above all else. Robert doesn't see it that way.

He stares at the boy, his eyes wide and unblinking.

Quite unnerving.

"Bill?"

He whispers Bill's name with fear, as though he's been dreaming something bad...

... about Bill.

"S-Suh-Sorry..." Bill whispers, genuinely apologetic and scared that he was starting to go crazy. He didn't mean to scare Robert. "I... I just have to... I huh-have to p-puh-pee."

Bill loses count of how many times Robert blinks, seemingly incomprehensively, at him.

They're impossibly wide as Robert gazes about their surroundings, as though he's confused about how they ended up here. As though he honestly forgot about last night's events. It's beyond uncanny with how much he currently reminds Bill of a cat he's just startled, with the way his shoulders are hunched and his back is rigid and arched, tense as though he's gearing for a fight. Almost like a cat in a turf war. It's honestly as though he expects the two of them to be attacked right here and now in the car. Then he frowns, guiltily, as he lets go of Bill, but he doesn't relax in the slightest.

"I'm so sorry..."

"It's okay... it's okay," Bill murmurs as he reluctantly slides out of Robert's grasp, a hand flying down to hold himself, every movement making it worse. "At l-luh-least it stopped r-ruh-raining..."

It was meant to lighten the mood, but Robert's eyes flicker in a way that makes Bill understand that he's remembering something bad.

"Okay... n-nuh-nevermind."

Bill ignores the feeling of an ice cold rock sitting in his stomach alongside his heavy bladder as he grabs Robert's hand, much to the clown's surprise, and decides to make a run for the public bathroom. Mud squishes underneath Bill's shoes and Robert's boots, squelching and sticking, but neither care.

Bill darts for the first stall, sighing with relief even as his thoughts attack him like a pack of hungry wolves.

He can't imagine what on earth would have made Robert react that way, what kind of nightmare would have made him so scared like that... It'd be if the nightmare was about last night's events, and Bill was no expert on dreams, but...

Holy shit that was scary.

And not just because of the weird thing with Robert's eyes.

Bill had thought, multiple times, that his eyes changed color when he was happy or sad or even just now, afraid, but he'd always brushed it off. He wasn't scared of Robert, because it didn't comprehend in his thoughts that his eyes were actually changing their color, and instead he felt worried at the idea that he might be losing his mind.

The clown, just outside of the stall, frowns as he gazes miserably into the mirror, willing his panted face, but a physical form's mask, to just...

... to just...

... He doesn't know anymore.

He thinks he's frightened Bill, he hasn't a clue it's not quite him the boy is afraid of. He's set for a while yet, after feasting upon that pathetic orderly, and he'll be going after those boys once he gets the chance (Freddy had a lot of nerve calling him a pussy, he thought) but still. If he hurts Bill, he will never forgive himself.

Bill sighs as he thinks about last night as he washes his hands, watching Robert lean against the bathroom's doorframe and stare into the junkyard with an unreadable expression, though Bill would assume forlorn would be the best word to use. He thinks instead about how nice it had felt, to be held and kissed with such passion and power, to be protected from those boys and their dark intentions, though he does briefly wonder what on earth Robert could have said to them to scare them in such a way (Robert's eyes dark, visibly) and yet Bill still regretted nothing (Robert's eyes soften, visibly) even now.

Why should he anyway?

Robert actually gave a shit about him and the feeling was mutual.

Fuck the age gap.

Bill wasn't egotistical, but he'd like to think that Robert was right when he said that Bill wasn't immature. He would like to think he was smart enough to know what he wanted in this life he called his own. He wanted to go to school, even if his teachers weren't all that great, and get his education, and he wanted to have his friends and his little brother by his side, and he wanted that promising career as a writer even if he was sensitive about it but...

For a partner...

He tries to picture it, himself, a couple years down the road, maybe even nearly 30 years down the road, about his parents' ages. He isn't sure exactly what he sees in his mind's eye, though. He tries to see a beautiful wife, as Robert described, a woman with ginger hair, and blue or green eyes, and someone who Bill could picture spending the rest of his life with. The sound of a wonderful wife to come home to has merit, sure, but...

... when he sees himself 27 years from now, he'd like to think that Robert would still be beside him.

Maybe it was wishful thinking, maybe even selfish, but Bill couldn't find it in himself to be sorry for wanting it. He wasn't sure what exactly it was he wanted, other than for Robert to stay a part of his life. Maybe he wouldn't stay friends with the ones he had now, but he stood by his statement that friendships as strong as theirs didn't just go away because they grew up. He'd like to think the same about Robert, that they wouldn't forever part ways just because life took them in different directions.

The word 'boyfriend' still leaves an odd feeling in Bill's belly, because the word doesn't seem to fit quite right. Significant other sounds like a closer match, but there's no way Bill could pronounce that without struggling on it. The thing is, Bill is happy. He's happy by having Robert by his side and telling him stories about himself, happy to simply have Robert's company and Robert cares for Georgie, too, that's another big part of it. Robert wasn't like other people, he had different outlooks on life and cared for the animals in his circus more than any regular animal loving person.

After all, who else would be either the right about of insane or perfectly sane to let a 500 pound tiger like Vitaly roam around freely? Gia, too.

He just likes the clown, a whole lot, more than. Bill is just happy to be around him, and he'd like to think that Robert thought the same of him. He does, very much so, but he also felt like he was burdening Bill's line of thinking. Burdening the choices Bill had in his life that he would eventually have to make. By the end of this summer, come August, and 27 years from now.

Bill just smiles, well aware he'd wait four more years if need be, because this isn't some silly little crush that happened to turn hot and heavy yesterday. Well, last night. He isn't sure he wants to stay friends, despite the fact that it would have to stay a secret. From their friends, too. Or maybe some part of him like having a secret, something so wonderful that nobody else can take from him, although it's beyond him why someone like Robert would want someone like "Stuttering Bill". Robert's eyes flash, annoyed, at that.

Bill's smile turns sweet and bashful as he remembers last night. The way Robert had held him and made him feel without even really touching him. Bill hadn't any idea his chest could be so sensitive even as he runs his hands along his body, over the shirt but enough to leave behind pleasant tingles on his skin. He touches his chest and runs his palms along his shoulders as he closes his eyes, smiling that same shy smile.

He turns towards Robert, who is still staring into the junkyard with that darkened expression. His back is against the frame of the door, arms folded over his hcest and a muddied boot propped up against the frame as well, his kneebent and his frown strange. Bill doesn't worry as he wraps his arms around the clown's waist, pressing his forehead against a strong sternum.

"I never did thank you," Bill murmurs.

"For what?"

"Stopping those b-buh-boys... and I f-fuh-feel l-luh-like you're going to g-guh-get that orderly even though I k-kuh-kicked huh-him in the n-nuh-nuts."

Robert runs his tongue along his teeth.

"Yeah," he says.

Bill needn't know.

Surely.

"And f-fuh-for staying w-wuh-with m-muh-me and n-nuh-not m-muh-making m-muh-me g-guh-go... b-buh-back there."

Cold arms wrap around his upper body, hugging him close. Robert whispers;

"Always."

"W-Wuh-What huh-happens n-nuh-now?" Bill asks, looking up at Robert.

His face is so small, Robert muses, yet with such big and wide eyes, so shy. Yet so hopeful. He almost has a babyish face.

One arm moves from around Bill's shoulders, Robert lifting his hand and nervously scratching the back of his own head, a rather shy look on his own face, one that has bill's head tilting curiously.

"I was thinking that... regardless of what your dad tries to say or do... though I'm sure he's out cold at the moment..." Robert says, knowing that was the case. "You need to eat..."

"S-Suh-So do you," Bill says, stubborn as always.

Or determined, whichever.

"And I was thinking that we could kill two turtles with one stone by getting breakfast together. You make sure I eat and I make sure you eat," Robert says, smiling awkwardly. "Sounds fair, don't you think?"

"Y-Yuh-Yeah," Bill says, his heart beating funnily and his stomach fluttering strangely as he tries his hardest not to smile like a dope. He fails, horribly. It's just breakfast, he tries to convince himself, and it doesn't have to mean anything, but is it so wrong that he really wants it to mean something? "That s-suh-sounds f-fuh-fair... n-nuh-nice, t-tuh-too..." He makes a funny face, however. "Two t-tuh-turtles w-wuh-with w-wuh-one stone? I thought it was b-buh-birds."

"It's an expression, Bill."

"Y-Yuh-Yeah, if you have a v-vuh-vendetta against t-tuh-turtles."

"Don't ask."

"F-Fuh-Fine," Bill says before tilting his head. "Are you g-guh-going to cluh-clean up? The r-ruh-rest of the m-muh-makeup?"

Robert shrugs, growing insecure again.

"It's... hard."

"W-Wuh-What?"

"Not being... Pennywise," Robert says softly. "For so long I've worn this face, for so long I've been a clown because people love them. Everybody loves a clown. Even the creepy ones. When I'm Pennywise, I feel like I know what I can do, what I can be, and that I don't have to be confused and afraid of what happens next. When I'm not... Pennywise, I feel like I'm standing at a crossroads, with so many different paths to take and it's like I'm standing in the dark and there's no different to them. I don't know which path to pick. It scares me."

The admission was difficult, Bill could tell.

"W-Wuh-Why? Huh-How l-luh-long huh-have you b-buh-been a clown?"

"A long time, Bill," Robert says. "When I'm Pennywise, life just makes sense. I'm a clown. Everybody loves me. Or fears me, whatever. No matter what, I'm me. When... when I'm... Robert... I don't know what I'm supposed to do. You all consider me your friend and that scares me, too. I've never had friends before. I've never had someone who would sit with me at a laundry mat for nearly three hours and the hospital for all of thirty minutes, that's a record, by the way, just to get that suit clean and... make sure I was okay. I've never mattered to anyone before... and then you stayed... and now we're going to get breakfast together. It's domestic and normal, and kind of weird. You treating me as though I am normal."

"N-Nuh-Nobody's n-nuh-normal," Bill says. "And y-yuh-you're d-duh-definitely n-nuh-not," he adds, smiling. "That's why you're better. I mean, t-tuh-take Circus Z-Zuh-Zaragoza for instance... huh-how many p-puh-people would've taken those animals instead of s-suh-sending them to a z-zuh-zoo where they can be juh-just as m-muh-miserable? You k-kuh-kept them and who else w-wuh-would l-luh-love and r-ruh-respect them the w-wuh-way you do? V-Vuh-Vitaly b-buh-bit you, sure, buh-but that was because he didn't know you then. You s-suh-saved them. If you were n-nuh-normal, you'd p-probably be another asshole who abuses his circus animals j-juh-just the s-suh-same. Y-Yuh-You're n-nuh-not and you l-luh-let them do their own things. You l-luh-let them retire when anyone else w-wuh-would've kept them g-guh-going. Y-Yuh-You l-luh-let them r-ruh-roam freely, sure, and that's dangerous, but that's the p-puh-point. Nature is deadly, and that's w-wuh-why you respect it. M-Muh-My p-puh-point is, clown or n-nuh-not, yuh-you're still R-Ruh-Robert, even if that isn't y-yuh-your r-ruh-real n-nuh-name. You're m-muh-my friend." Bill lowers his eyes, a smile taking over. "And... m-muh-maybe... f-fuh-five y-yuh-years from n-nuh-now... m-muh-maybe m-muh-more? Or... n-nuh-not f-fuh-five years..."

Robert is silent, just for a moment, thinking this through.

As the clown or not, Bill trusts him. Beyond words. He is bill's friend, but there's so much about him that Bill doesn't know. And Bill, knowing that Robert has such secrets, doesn't care. He doesn't press, he knows some things are better left kept in the dark. Bill does know that if Robert wasn't as good as he believed, then Georgie could have very well been on a Missing Kid poster along with Veronica and Esther, Betty and Ed, and even Patrick. Their lives were always meant to be shared, Robert knows, whether in darkness or light. As friends or enemies.

Here and now, in that old life and this one, there was only one word to describe what they were, a word Bill had yet to grasp;

Mates.

The creature, It, was the thing of nightmares. It was fear Itself. It thrived off the fear it instilled into little children and sometimes adults, whether in Derry or anywhere else in the world, and fed upon their flesh while feasting upon their fear. It was a being higher than gods and even Titans, far more ancient and far more powerful. A being long existent since before the dawn of time.

Robert, It, remembers how life began for It as well as Its' brother, Maturin. It remembers Its' own hatching, in the darkness, surrounded by hundreds upon thousands of dark shadows, those of other beings and only a few dared to hatch and exist. It remembers a shell shaped being -- later to be known as a turtle -- also hatching before it fled from It and began vomiting out funny shapes adn strange things that became creation.

Life itself.

There had been more, so very few, more creatures like It. A creature without a shape, other than something endless and crawling, something that the human mind would compare to an orange spider, and only five of such creatures survived the hatching. The rest alongside the turtle became known as Guardians of the Beam. The unhatched became the firsts feasts of It and Its' siblings.

Maturin was creation.

It was destruction.

There had to be a being higher than they, to create such things in the first place, somewhere in the infinite realms of darkness, of stars and galaxies, universes and dimensions. Yet it was Maturin, the turtle, the one who created and did not destroy, who became one of the Twelve.

The Twelve resented It for existing and she (but not, beyond such human terms) considered Maturin to be lazy and stupid. He was not. He was wise and benevolent. A kindred spirit. And out of all of his creations, the ones It and Its' siblings favored the most was the shining.

And out of all creatures of creation, Maturin gifted it to humans.

And still wondered why It feasted upon their sort, the youngest of them, most of all.

It remembers feeling nothing more than hunger and loneliness, even amongst others like Itself. They were not the familial sort, sooner likely to eat each other than love one another, and instead they went off on their own paths between worlds as Maturin kept creating, vomiting and spewing universes and creation without care. All because he had a bellyache.

It was a divine being, an alien thing to this pitiful, miniscule planet and its inhabitants. It was the Eater of Worlds and of children. Yet seven of those little children, only seven, the smallest of all humans and supposedly the weakest, managed to band together and defeat It not once, but twice. These seven children, tiny little things, gifted with the shining, managed to defeat and kill It.

Almost all five.

They killed the "Female".

As well as another It and the "twin".

The fourth was unknown, at least to Robert. He knew not who defeated it once to capture it in that facility to fulfill that ritual. That one was killed by vengeful Gods, not by humans. Who had defeated it, and why, It did not know.

And the fifth was...

"R-Ruh-Robert?"

The clown blinks, looking at Bill with a small frown on his painted face. The boy is staring at him with a mixture of concern and curiosity, unaware of the unexplainable images that are going through Robert's head at the moment. Visions and sights that would undoubtedly make a human brain explode upon contact if not render it completely scrambled. Catatonic or dead. He can sense both Bill's concern and his curiosity, the first one stemming from the fact that quite a bit of time had passed and Robert had said nothing else after Bill saying they might not wait five years, and his curiosity stems on what has Robert becoming such a deep thinker.

"Sorry, I was miles away," Robert says, apologetic.

"I could tell," Bill says, smiling. "W-Wuh-Wanna t-tuh-talk about it?"

"Not really, no," Robert says truthfully. Bill isn't offended, however. "My... kin, mostly. Maturin. I think I miss him."

"Is that r-ruh-really s-suh-so b-buh-bad?"

"It is when since the dawn of time we've had a rivalry that puts most siblings to shame," Robert says bluntly, well aware that bill thought he was exacerbating the issue. Of course he would, as Bill has no idea that Robert, It, truly has been around since before then the dawn of time. Before Maturin belched it out of his insides. "It's a long story, one I'm not keen to share."

"You had a lot of family issues, didn't you?" Bill asks, not even stuttering, yet smiling as he takes Robert's hand, shaking it back and forth.

"Bill, you have no idea," Robert says, smiling grimly. Yet it dims, however, as he internally debates. Without the clown, he was no longer Pennywise, but Robert. A name nothing like his own, though he hardly remembered what that was anymore. Yet being Robert didn't seem so bad anymore, not so scary. People actually liked him, even cared about him, and maybe some selfish part of him liked that. And maybe, just maybe... he would be remembered. "Give me a minute, will you?"

"S-Shuh-Sure," Bill says, smiling as he exits the bathroom.

"Robert" stares into the bathroom mirror, seeing his true from behind the starlight blue eyes as he stares into the physical form's face. He watches as the greasepaint and red paint and the lipstick all melt away, disappearing into nothing and revealing pale skin underneath. It's not that much different, to the naked eye, but for him, it feels like he's someone else entirely. Maybe that doesn't have to be such a bad and scary thing, however.

He smiles as he exits the bathroom, leaving part of himself behind as he does and having no regrets about it. 

The cold whispers of morning make goosebumps erupt along Bill's skin and he shivers as Robert opens the passenger door for him. Quite alike an actual gentleman. Something Bill has never met before. And the moment that Robert is in the front seat and the car is revving with life is when he reaches in the backseat for the blanket, handing it to Bill without saying a word. Bill bundles himself in it, cocooning himself like an oversized caterpillar before foregoing every rule of the road that Eddie had ever warned him about, and laying himself across the passenger seat and the driver's seat, his head coming to rest on Robert's lap as he tiredly rubs his eyes.

"Thank you," Bill murmurs, settling himself.

Robert just smiles, weirdly enjoying the domestic air he's found himself surrounded in despite the fact that Bill had nearly been attacked, brutally beyond words. He had prevented that, and for that he had no regrets. He, as the clown. Robert or Pennywise. A being far older than time and space itself, a creature not of this earth, had protected this little human boy. It made sense and didn't at the same time. It was almost bizarre, almost foreign, even, especially when he fell asleep as though he were human after taking Bill to the junkyard for the night instead of taking him back to that house or even Neibolt.

He wanted these domestic moments, try as she may to say he had gone soft and had become weak for Bill. He just... hated himself... He hated his actions more than himself, and hadn't been lying to Bill when he said didn't ask to be made, didn't ask to be made and to be hated by every other "kid" on the playground. The Guardians saw him and his kind as nothing more than abominations of eldritch energies. Maturin was never cruel, but he was always the favored one between their lots and they were just too different to ever see things eye to eye.

He wonders then what Maturin would think, for the turtle had died long before any of the clowns, or Its, did, before the Losers Club killed them in their respective worlds and nearly killed Robert, too. Robert doesn't know how the other It died, as that one died in the facility, killed by that world's wrath of the "Gods" after the ritual was not fulfilled. He didn't know how what battle of wills that one faced before Its' death, because how else would it have been weakened enough to be contained? It was all just very strange to him. He knew what various pathways of the future entailed, but he doesn't know which path to take. He wants Bill, so very much, to hold him and love him as his mate, as the boy deserves to be loved, to be cherished, but...

He was on borrowed time as it was, he was sure. By the end of August, he would have no choice but to return to his long rest while life went on without him. For 27 years he would dream of Bill, he would crave him, oh, he would miss him so very much. And he doubted that even if the Losers didn't face him as they did, somewhat, in that old life, doubting now that they would because he was friend rather than foe, hope instead of fear, they wouldn't return to Derry.

He promised them without their knowing that each and every one of them would live on and lead happy lives until old age took them back to the weeds and he meant the promise in this life. He had promised them that in that old life and his twin had done so as well, and even she had tried to bargain with Bill an elongated life as well as fame and fortune in her world before her death, but despite all that fame and success, so long as the Its lived, none of them were truly happy.

In that old life, Richie had gone without telling Eddie how he truly felt. In the twin's world, Eddie had died in the end, never knowing what Richie wanted to tell him. In that old life, Richie had told him after keeping it a secret for a long 27 years. Eddie hadn't died in that old life, but it simply wasn't meant to be. Ben had always missed Beverly, his first love never leaving him. He had kept the page of his yearbook, with only her signature, in his wallet for 27 years. Beverly had ended up in an abusive relationship with a piece of shit who, in this life, wouldn't grow up to be such a bastard because the clown had killed his mother.

Still, Robert knew Ben and Beverly were meant to be. Eddie and Richie were hard to say, especially in this life now. Mike had found his way in another life, just as the Mike in Robert's old life had lived the life Bill was meant to.

Bill...

He was meant to be a writer. A storyteller of horror tales unlike any other. People said they didn't like the endings to his books, but Robert knew it was mostly because everyone wanted fairytale endings, one big happily ever after, but that wasn't how horror stories worked. What was a happily ever after, anyway? The asshole gets his in the end and the main character rides off into the sunset with the romance? Was that even a thing anymore?

Had it ever been a real thing in the first place?

Robert doesn't... hate... Audra Phillips. He does envy her, however. He knows what she and Bill are meant to have will be real and he doesn't want to steal another childhood as well as adulthood, not like before, but...

... where was his happily ever after?

Did he just not get one?

Was this truly the universe's final "Fuck You?"

He'd understand, sure, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

"It f-fuh-felt s-suh-so g-guh-good," Bill tells him, smiling without meaning to. "L-Luh-Last n-nuh-night."

"I shouldn't have rushed you," Robert says solemnly. "You were nearly hurt by those shitheads and I just --"

"I wanted it," Bill says softly. "And... I think that if you hadn't, I would've just been s-suh-sad." Robert gives him a curious glance. "Think about it. Everyone's always trying to t-tuh-take from m-muh-me... trying to m-muh-mess w-wuh-with m-muh-me l-luh-like that because they're stupid enough to think I'm s-suh-some sluh-slut for s-suh-sale even though I'm... my age. I think that if you huh-hadn't, I would just be scared of s-suh-sex completely." Bill's cheeks are rosy with pink. "I don't w-wuh-want to be afraid. And with you, I'm not."

Robert is silent.

The topic of this conversation, for most, would surely be awkward, but it just isn't. Not for them. Bill feels comfortable at the moment, if only a little bit shy. If anything, he trusts only Robert to have these kinds of conversations with him, because Robert is the only one who doesn't try to hurt him like that. Robert isn't like his father, had even stood up to him for Bill, and he certainly wasn't like those boys or that orderly from last night. He also doesn't make jokes out of it, like Richie would, and he certainly doesn't warn Bill about the dangers of sexual intercourse, as Eddie would, but he doesn't make sex out to be some kind of scary thing.

"I'd do it again," Bill says, smiling. "I m-muh-mean... the p-puh-part w-wuh-where you threw up b-bluh-blood was g-gruh-gross and scary b-buh-but everything else was... more than okay," he bites his lower lip, grinning just a bit. He toys with the hem of Robert's shirt in his cocoon. Bill hadn't bothered to change his clothes, not yet anyway. Robert's clothes were just so comfortable. "And... in m-muh-my shorts was k-kuh-kind of awkward..."

"No, it wasn't," Robert says, smiling.

"You know..." Bill begins, his thoughts drifting to breakfast foods as well as a quaint little diner, with lots of people chattering happily and going on about their days. Bill's thoughts are sweet and childish, while Robert's thoughts stray to the various ways he intends to get those little brats that dared put their hands on Bill last night. Yet he can't help but smile as he catches onto Bill's thoughts, seeing through Bill's mind's eye a memory from when Bill was about six or seven, his mom heavily pregnant with Georgie at the time, his dad even pulling her chair out for her before she sits down and he even pushes it back in. A gentlemanly thing. "There's this d-duh-diner... w-wuh-when you're about to l-luh-leave D-Duh-Derry... it's a r-ruh-really c-cuh-cool p-pluh-place... w-wuh-we used to g-guh-go there all the t-tuh-time... My p-puh-parents w-wuh-would tuh-take us there... b-buh-before w-wuh-we w-wuh-went on v-vuh-vacation."

"That sounds nice," Robert tells him in his softest voice.

However, Bill's guilt pierces through that sweetness of good memories.

Robert rolls his eyes.

When was Bill going to figure out it wasn't a problem?

"I d-duh-don't huh-have a l-luh-lot of m-muh-money --" Bill murmurs guiltily.

"Bill, it's alright," Robert says. He grins then, morbid and sly. "Let's just say the previous owners of Circus Zaragoza left me a decent amount. More than just the animals."

Bill frowns.

"W-Wuh-What d-duh-does that m-muh-mean?"

"You'll see. Just don't pick the cheapest thing on the menu because you think money is an issue. You aren't a burden on my wallet, you know," Robert says knowingly, Bill's cheeks darkening at being caught.

"Okay," Bill says reluctantly. "B-Buh-But... um... d-duh-do you w-wuh-wanna g-guh-go on that b-buh-bike r-ruh-ride l-luh-later? Or m-muh-maybe s-suh-see that m-muh-movie? And... m-muh-maybe..." Robert raises an eyebrow when he feels Bill's index finger tracing patterns along his knee, a gesture of shyness. "I could s-suh-see the scar from V-Vuh-Vitaly?"

"If that's what you want," Robert says, smiling honestly.

Bill was just so cute, wasn't he?

Robert had never seen it before, and now he could.

And he was enjoying every moment of this domesticity.

When not forced to grow up so quickly and realize the harsh realities of the world by the loss of his little brother, Bill Denbrough really was a sweet kid just trying to find his way through life like any other person. He just didn't have anyone who would help him, to guide him through the series of endless paths that could be so confusing and even scary at times. And when he grew up, he would be the same good hearted person he was now.

Just... bigger.

Bill smiles all the more brightly, positively shining.

The smile dims, however, when he notices the prices on the menu. Robert had told him not to worry about, that he wasn't a burden on his wallet, but how could he not worry? How could he not think that? He wasn't the kind of asshole that took advantage of another person's good-natured offering. The kind of person who, when offered a piece of something, took the whole thing and left the other person the piece. Someone like Bowers, he was sure. Or at least what Bowers had been. Maybe Gretta was a better example. Or Connor, for that matter. The point is, Bill doesn't remember the prices being so high when hsi parents would bring him and Georgie here for breakfast, sometimes brunch, before they would go on their family trips and vacations.

"Just pick something," Robert says softly, perfectly aware of what was going on through Bill's head at the moment. He knows what Bill wants, but will try and refuse to get. He props an elbow on the table and rests the side of his face in the palm of his hand, the two of them sitting in a booth by the window together. "Money isn't a problem, Bill."

"But it's all s-suh-so expensive," Bill murmurs as the waitresses take notice of their presence. "W-Wuh-What're you huh-having?"

"I don't care."

"How can you n-nuh-not care?"

"I just don't."

One waitress is an older lady that Bill recognizes almost instantly, even managing to send a smile and a wave in her direction, to which she responds with a smile and a nod. She's the nice one that his parents liked to chat with whenever they would go on their trips. She's an older, plump woman with bits of gray in her curly hair and soft, old woman eyes. Of course, she still retains that, "I don't take shit from anyone" attitude that makes Bill like her.

The second one, on the other hand, Bill doesn't recognize at all, and guesses easily and correctly is new on the scene.

She's young, a few years older than Bill and Bowers, too, and she's pretty looking. Bill guesses she's about Robert's age, maybe just a tad bit younger. She's rather tall and skinny, with a large chest and long legs. Long blonde hair flows almost elegantly down her shoulders, with big blue eyes and a perfect complexion to match. She looks incredibly bored until she spots Robert and a rather strange grin forms on her face, her eyes lighting up as they rake Robert up and down.

Bill frowns as he watches her turn around, watching her hands go up to her chest and he can tell she's undoing the first two buttons on her uniform, the older woman giving her an unimpressed if not exhausted look before shaking her head and walking the other way. Bill guesses that means the girl has done something like this before. Bill also takes notice of how she rolls up the skirt of her uniform around her waist, so that her thighs and nearly her whole ass are revealed.

What's funny is that Bill, along with a few other patrons at the diner, mostly the men, take notice. Robert, on the other hand, is making a swan origami out of the napkin. He isn't stupid, mind you. He knows what the girl is thinking, and he isn't interested. He does know though that it looks a little odd that Bill is in clothes that are clearly far too large for him, clothes that look like pajamas to the outside perspective.

Yet he frowns as he catches her thoughts on Bill and how she thinks Bill must be his "kid" or his "kid brother".

Both make his frown turn sour. Especially considering the fact that she's banking on the second one. Maturin, unfortunately, comes to mind, and Robert isn't sure who he loathes more at that very moment.

"Just don't get the grilled cheese, Bill," Robert says, looking Bill dead in the eye as he says that, well aware that Bill had been looking at that just because it was the cheapest thing on the menu. "Order the breakfast platter. It's got pancakes, sausage, bacon, eggs, biscuits, and orange juice."

It's also Bill's favorite, but Robert can't tell him that he knows that already.

Bill frowns, unsure.

He wasn't that obvious though, was he? About the grilled cheese? And his eyes nearly bug out of his head when he sees the price of the breakfast platter, guilt coursing through him because he remembers how he and Georgie both always ordered them...

... and now with Robert...

"Stop that. I don't care about money, I care about keeping you fed and happy."

"It's j-juh-just so expensive," Bill says.

"It's fine, Bill. I know you like the platter the best."

"How can you p-puh-possibly know that?"

"Because that's the first thing you looked at before realizing the price," Robert says. "And then you realized there were more zeroes the second time you looked."

"How did --" Bill is about to ask the inevitable question, but the young waitress steps forward, a notepad and a pen in her hand and a grin on her face.

"What can I get you, boys?" she asks, turning towards Robert and completely ignoring Bill. She even flashes Robert a rather wanton smile as she sways her hips in a way that Bill knows is supposed to be enticing. He doesn't find it to be, personally, mostly because her ass is nearly in his face. "Cup of coffee, at all, hun?"

"Two breakfast platters," Robert says before Bill has a chance to speak. He looks at Bill, pointedly, as he orders. "Don't argue."

The waitress nods, still not looking at Bill.

"You want that coffee?"

"Yeah, sure," Robert says, having no real intention of actually drinking it. It was for Bill, not for him.

"Great order. Great, great order," she says, batting her baby blues and running her tongue along her lower lip. It's clear she's trying to flirt, but Robert, at least in Bill's perspective, is oblivious or he doesn't give a shit. "Can I get you anything else today?"

She asks this question as she bends closer to him, baring her breasts to the point that they nearly pop out of her shirt and Bill scoots away from her backside when it nearly pops out in front of his face, grimacing with disgust. Robert himself tries his hardest not to glare at her, not to snap his fingers and make her explode in a shower of blood and guts. He'd rather she not spit in Bill's food or drink, after all.

"I'm good," he says simply.

The waitress blinks, frowning with confusion as she stands upright, much to Bill and Robert's shared relief, before scoffing with disbelief. She turns towards Bill, a scathing look in her eyes as if it's somehow his fault that Robert is rejecting her advances. It is, but not for the reason she's thinking. Bill isn't his kid, he's not his kid brother, he's his mate.

"I'll have that out for you then," she says, looking and sounding disappointed.

The waitress in the back just rolls her eyes, yelling at the cook to get the order ready.

Robert just stares at his origami swan, looking incredibly bored. Bill frowns.

"W-Wuh-What was that?" he can't help but ask, swallowing nervously. "Sh-Sh-Shuh-She w-wuh-was all over y-yuh-you and you m-muh-must be oblivious or d-duh-didn't care."

Robert looks at him, that same unimpressed look on his face.

"What about this facial expression gives you the idea I wanted any of that?"

Bill manages a small smile.

"N-Nuh-Nothing," he says. "It's just... I thought she was p-pruh-pretty."

"No, you didn't," Robert says, knowingly.

Bill couldn't lie to him. Because he was himself and Bill had a terrible poker face.

"Sh-Sure she was."

"No."

Bill sighs as the waitress brings the coffee, still glaring at him as though it was somehow his fault. Robert knows there's more sugar and cream than actual coffee and as he ignores her blatant flirting, he pushes it towards Bill. He knows it pisses her off more and he doesn't care. His demeanor as he inhales the smell of the caffeinated drink is that of a pouty child as he pushes it away, disgust written all over his face.

"Drink it."

"D-Duh-Don't y-yuh-you n-nuh-need it?" Bill asks, confused.

The both of them are ignoring the waitress now, to which she responds by storming off. Robert knowing, more than Bill, that it was taking every ounce of self restraint she had in her not to stamp her foot like a child having a temper tantrum.

"I don't drink coffee," Robert says.

Bill gives him a look of disbelief.

Because why order it if you weren't going to have it?

Or was Robert always planning on giving it to Bill?

"You are such an ass," Bill says.

Robert just smirks.

"Drink it. It'll get cold otherwise. I just didn't want her to spit in it if she knew it was for you."

Bill grumbles as he takes the coffee, holding the mug with both hands, mostly to warm them.

"Why don't you eat m-muh-much?" Bill asks.

Robert's smirk dims and he looks away, fingers pressed against his cheek and his temple.

"Until l-luh-last n-nuh-night, I've n-nuh-never s-suh-seen you eat," Bill says. "You didn't eat at M-Muh-Mike's p-puh-party and you d-duh-didn't eat the ice cream and I ended up throwing it at R-Ruh-Richie anyway. It's l-luh-like you d-duh-don't enjoy f-fuh-food... w-wuh-what k-kuh-kind of d-duh-diet do you huh-have anyway? What k-kuh-kind of m-muh-medical problem makes you v-vuh-vomit b-bluh-blood if you don't eat?"

 _I_ _enjoy_ _food_ _well_ _enough_ , Robert thinks grimly, _just_ _not_ _the_ _kind_ _of_ _food_ _you're_ _thinking_ _of_.

"I..." Robert starts before sighing. "It's hard to explain, Bill. Long story short, if I don't eat good and proper for a long period of time, I throw up blood. It's as simple as that. And if you must know, I eat meat."

"Duh-Doesn't s-suh-sound s-suh-simple... w-wuh-what k-kuh-kind of d-duh-diet is m-muh-meat only, anyway?"

"Well, it is that simple. I eat, I'm fine. And it's a special diet called 'None your business'," Robert says, but with a smile. "No, it's fine, Bill. I... I'll be fine. I had that... hospital sandwich. I'm good for a while."

Bill raises an eyebrow, knowing he wasn't getting anymore out of him.

"W-Wuh-Well, c-can you at l-luh-least eat b-bruh-breakfast?" Bill asks, his concern beyond endearing and it makes the clown's still beating heart flutter. "It's the m-muh-most important m-muh-meal of the day."

"I'll... I'll try, Bill," Robert says, sighing and trying not to grumble.

Silence.

Save for the ringing of the doorbell as more people enter to get breakfast. They give Robert and Bill passing glances before staring curiously and then judgingly, looking at the young man with the younger boy, the latter looking to be in pajamas that belonged to the man. Some of them even recognize Bill as well as Robert, and they whisper to each other, clearly curious and judging, some of them even having the balls to sneer, but their eyes don't stick around for too long, as the pointed glares they receive from Robert frighten them into looking the othe rway.

He'd enjoy the sweet stench of fear if the sweet, buttery and syrupy smell of pancakes wasn't making him feel nauseous as the waitress brings out the tray, both plates decked with the breakfast platters. A saucy smile is on her face, one he doesn't care for but knows is bothering Bill. Neither one care for how she undid yet another button, the expanse of her bra just visible, and rolled up her skirt another inch.

"Two breakfast platters for the nice young men," she says as she sets the tray on the table. She serves Robert's plates for him and leaves Bill to grab his own as she bats her eyelashes once more at Robert. She doesn't even give Bill his silverware and Robert has to grab it for him. Bill knows her actions are supposed to be sexy, that they're supposed to be flattering, and she really is pretty, so why does he feel so annoyed? Can't a person just get breakfast with his...

... friend...

... person...

... thing...

Whatever the hell they were...

... without someone insisting upon themselves?

He doesn't like how she eyes Robert with that interested gaze, how she takes notice of the fact that his eyes aren't aligned and gaze in two different directions, and even takes notice of the rippling muscles underneath the t-shirt. He doesn't care for how she bites her lower lip, that same saucy smile staying on her face. He can't help but look away and regrets it just the same, as he sees himself, thin and pale with noodle arms, a flat chest, and an almost babyish face that gives away how young he really is.

What bothers him the most, he supposes, is the fact that other people are waiting on her to serve them, and she's still flaunting herself around Robert...

Alright, that was a lie.

What bothers him the most is that she was flaunting herself around _Robert_ , who obviously _wasn't_ interested. Couldn't she take a hint already?

His stomach feels stingy and tense as he watches her skirt around their booth much longer than necessary. He watches as she nearly sits on the table, looking away when he accidentally sees pink fabric under her skirt and she pointedly sits in front of Bill so that Robert is forced to look at her instead.

He feels funny, but not pleasantly.

He feels like, if he were Beverly, or just a girl, he might have already shoved her off the table and wouldn't concern himself with her wellbeing once her exposed ass hit the floor. She sways her hips.

"Got a name, handsome?" she asks Robert, uncrossing and crossing her legs.

Robert gives her a look, as does Bill.

Just for two different reasons.

Robert doesn't care and Bill is annoyed.

And jealous, not that Bill will admit that.

He knows it's jealousy because she is around Robert's age. He has a feeling, too, that if Richie or Bowers were here, they'd be eying that perky, damn near exposed bosom the same way most boys tended to do. Or maybe the way most girls would, whether enviously or with interest. Bill himself doesn't stare for too long, although that's a difficult task considering the fact that she's right in front of him. It's jealous, too, because she's a blonde haired, blue eyed, beautiful girl.

On the outside, at least.

Inside, Bill isn't so sure.

"Why you still here?" Robert asks, not even looking at her. "Some people are trying to eat here."

She blinks, her baby blue eyes widening with shock. Then disbelief. Then anger. She turns towards Bill, scowling nastily at him. Bill finds that she loses a lot of the prettiness when she's making that kind of face. She slides off the table.

"Let me know if you need anything else," she says angrily.

"We won't," Robert says cheerfully.

She storms away, huffing, her heels clacking with her anger against the tiled floor.

Robert just shakes his head, quite disapprovingly, before frowning at the pancakes before him. He curves his lips with disgust, grabbing the biscuit from his plate and giving it to Bill, who stares at him with confusion.

"Why'd you g-guh-give m-muh-me your b-buh-biscuit?" Bill asks.

"I don't want it," Robert says simply.

He tries, so very hard, not to sound like a child refusing to eat their veggies.

"You need too --"

"I'm a meat eater, Bill," Robert says.

"Chocolate, s-suh-soda, and m-muh-meat is n-nuh-not a huh-healthy diet," Bill says stubbornly.

"Maybe not for you, but I've managed for 20 some odd years just fine," Robert says dryly. "I'm not eating that biscuit and you cannot make me. I may not still understand how the hell I let you take me to the hospital, but I am not eating that."

Bill grumbles as his eyes land on the small plate of bacon by his own plate. He pushes it towards Robert.

"Trade you then."

Robert takes one look at it before pushing his plate of pancakes towards Bill, who gives him an unhappy look. He mutters, exasperated;

"R-Ruh-Really?"

"I am a very picky eater," Robert says simply. "No, really, just this year I mostly stopped eating junk food."

Bill mutters to himself, mostly concerned with Robert eating well enough.

"T-Truh-Trade f-fuh-for the s-suh-sausages then," Bill says, stabbing his fork into the fat slabs of sausage and sliding them off the utensil with the knife, right onto Robert's plate. He supposes that at least Robert will be eating eggs, too, which aren't as greasy looking as the sausage and bacon. "F-Fuh-Fair's f-fuh-fair."

"Mm."

Robert smiles at him, but there is no humor in it.

"At least you got your breakfast first," he says, figuring the sausage, bacon, and eggs wouldn't be too bad. "She might've spit in it otherwise."

"Y-Yuh-Yeah," Bill says softly. "R-Ruh-Remind m-muh-me n-nuh-not to g-guh-get anymore c-cuh-coffee, then."

He pushes around the eggs on his own plate, an insecure feeling bubbling inside of him. He knows it's silly, beyond ridiculous even, but he's jealous of that girl. Well, anyone in their right mind would be annoyed just the same because she had been not so subtly flirting with Robert, who clearly wanted nothing to do with her other than to get his food. If Bill were older, and maybe a girl, then he could understand better why she would be so mad at him, unless she thought that Robert wouldn't try and flirt back if he had Bill with him. If he had a _kid_ with him.

That word makes Bill's insides feel funny.

In a bad way.

Bill didn't know the girl, figuring she was new to town, and Bill feels funny when he thinks that maybe the girl thought that he was _Robert's_ kid or maybe that Bill was his little _brother_. He frowns.

To the people that didn't know them... was that really what it looked like?

He feels uncomfortable at that, not that he really cares what anyone thinks of him, but... if Robert...

... maybe it would be better if Robert hung out with people around his age instead of a bunch of thirteen year olds and one's seven year old brother? Don't get Bill wrong, he knew there was nothing wrong, Robert was a clown from the circus and was their friend but...

"Stop thinking," Robert says, still staring at his plate.

Neither one have touched anything, just for different reasons.

"It's too loud."

Bill scoffs, his smile small but there.

"Thinking is n-nuh-not l-luh-loud," Bill says, his smile turning shy as he tries to force down the stingy pangs he felt in his belly. He wasn't stupid to try and deny it, deny the fact that he wishes he was older at the very least, but then he was quite certain that he and Robert could end up like Adrian and Don... although he knew Robert would protect him, just the same. "It's n-nuh-not."

"Yes, it is. Yours especially," Robert says, looking between his utensils now, as though confused.

He starts to reach for the fork, to start with the sausage or maybe the eggs, but stops mid-reach. Bill watches as Robert looks insecurely at the utensils and the sausage and eggs before reaching for the bacon instead. He frowns, curious, because Robert definitely wanted to start with the sausage, so why didn't he?

A question pops into Bill's mind, one he's unsure if he should ask but can't help it;

"Huh-Have... have you n-nuh-never used s-suh-silverware b-buh-before?"

Bill is just curious. He isn't judging Robert.

Robert knows that, but it's still awkward. He's seen people do this many times, so why was it difficult for him?

He lowers his eyes.

"No."

He admits it so quietly, as though it was a dirty little secret.

"That's okay," Bill says, smiling somewhat awkwardly. Somehwat. "Um..."

It is kind of weird to hear, he thinks. He knows Robert didn't have the childhood he and his friends did. He knew that much. He knew that Robert had a brother, by the name of Maturin, as well as siblings he had not named. Siblings who, according to him, he had forgotten their names. That makes Bill feel sad for him, sad in a way he couldn't explain. He spoke of other people he knew, one of which he knew to be dead. Shardik. He spoke of three others, Gan and Garuda and Aslan, that last one still making Bill think of the _Narnia_ books that his mom used to read to him when he was little, and he grows sad.

He pushes around the eggs, scrambled and fried, a little bit more.

He tries to ignore the feeling of hope he gets when he watches Robert take a bite of the bacon.

"It's n-nuh-nice to s-suh-see you eating," Bill says. "It's n-nuh-not g-guh-good to skuh-skip m-muh-meals."

"Yeah, well," Robert says, grimacing at the taste of the bacon. It wasn't that bad, but he felt bad. "Make sure you listen to your own advice. And I feel bad."

"W-Wuh-Why?" Bill asks before taking a bite of the scrambled eggs.

"I have a pet piglet back at the circus. How do you think she'd react if she found out I was eating pig?" he asks.

Bill lets out a little laugh. Robert gives him a look.

"I d-duh-don't think y-yuh-your p-puh-piglet w-wuh-will c-cuh-care about w-wuh-what you eat," he says, smiling. "W-Wuh-Why'd you n-nuh-name huh-her Carrie?"

"I know what you're thinking, it's really not an insult to Carrie White. I told you know that pigs are said to be very compassionate animals. They're also good for getting rid of most evidence. I dunno, I just love that pig very much."

"R-Ruh-Really? Huh-Who s-suh-said that about p-puh-pigs?"

"A guy named John Kramer. Now eat your eggs," Robert says sternly.

Bill just smiles at him.

It's nice, pleasant even, to be having breakfast with Robert as friends do. It's peaceful, a buzz of chatter surrounding them from the other patrons in the diner, and the fact that they're doing something as mundane as having breakfast together, even if Robert does have a guilty look on his face when eating the sausage and the bacon. Also, when the waitress does bother to come back to their booth to refill Bill's coffee, a nasty look on her face, Robert subtly pushes the cup away from Bill's hand, shaking his head when her back is turned. Bill goes for the orange juice instead, and tries not to be annoyed when Robert pushes his cup of orange juice towards him as well. How can he be, when that childish grin is beyond endearing if not outright charming.

"Huh-How c-cuh-come you d-duh-didn't t-tuh-talk to huh-her s-suh-some m-muh-more?" Bill can't help but ask. "Alright, I l-luh-lied, I d-duh-don't think she's pretty b-buh-but d-duh-don't y-yuh-you?"

"No," Robert says bluntly through a mouthful of sausage. "She's a bitch who spit in the whole pot of coffee just to spite you."

Bill jumps when someone spits out their coffee upon hearing that, the older waitress cursing loudly. He sighs as the younger one folds her arms over her chest, a defiant and outright scornful look on her face. As though she is honestly refusing to take the blame for her own actions.

"Dude," Bill says. "W-Wuh-Why w-wuh-would y-yuh-you d-duh-do that?"

"Would you want to be drinking whore's spit?" Robert asks bluntly.

"W-Wuh-Well, n-nuh-no, b-buh-but --"

"Well, there you go," Robert says simply, moving onto his eggs even though he's holding the fork the wrong way. "I don't care about some skank from the diner. I came here to have breakfast with you."

Bill sighs at that, trying not to smile and he drowns out the background noise, which is mostly curses being spit back and forth between the two waitresses.

"Y-Yuh-Yeah, you d-duh-did," Bill says, looking awkwardly at his own plate as he douses the pancakes in syrup, something he's always done since he was little. "Um..." he lets out a shaky little laugh. "It's fuh-funny, isn't it? I can't think of a thing to t-tuh-talk about."

Robert grows quiet, also unsure of what to say.

What did humans talk about with each other anyway?

Besides sex?

"How's school?"

Bill's lips twitch with amusement as he grins.

"R-Ruh-Really?"

Robert shrugs, self-conscious.

"I'm not much of a conversationalist, Bill," he says truthfully. "Don't judge me."

"I'm not," Bill says honestly, still smiling. "It's okay, I guess. It sucks, sure, but m-muh-my grades are g-guh-good. English is m-muh-my f-fuh-favorite. I l-luh-like m-muh-music, t-tuh-too, as you know. I'm in s-suh-summer school, b-buh-but n-nuh-not b-buh-because I huh-have to be. R-Ruh-Richie always g-guh-gets stuck in s-suh-summer school b-buh-but always m-muh-manages to scrape b-buh-buy. M-Muh-Mostly b-buh-because w-wuh-we huh-have this thing every y-yuh-year where we b-buh-bet whether or n-nuh-not the t-tuh-teachers w-wuh-will n-nuh-notice I'm n-nuh-not supposed to be there, helping him w-wuh-when they d-duh-don't b-buh-bother."

Robert can't help it, he actually laughs.

"That's so stupid, it's almost funny."

Bill laughs, too.

"I still s-suh-say you could be a b-buh-better t-tuh-teacher for m-muh-music than the w-wuh-one w-wuh-we huh-have n-nuh-now."

"I'm sure, in another life," Robert says. "Junior high, though. You should be taking your college courses soon."

"Huh-Haven't r-ruh-really thought about it," Bill says honestly. "I g-guh-guess so. I've n-nuh-never... huh-had anyone try and p-puh-push m-muh-me towards something l-luh-like that. L-Luh-Like c-cuh-careers." Bill's smile turns sad. His eyes even grow misty and pink. "S-Suh-Sometimes I w-wuh-wonder if I'll ever even g-guh-get out of D-Duh-Derry... the w-wuh-way things are going."

Robert frowns.

He reaches a hand for Bill's, placing it atop of the boy's smaller one. He runs his thumb over the back of Bill's knuckles.

"You can do whatever the hell you want, Bill," Robert tells him. "27 years from now, you'll be famous for your horror stories. They'll be scarier than anything Stephen King's got rooting around in his head, and that's saying something because that guy is messed up in there." Bill smiles at that, shaking his head. "I'm serious. You've got the talent and the brains, not many people can say that. All those stories and characters in your head... 27 years from now, when you're forty years old and married with children, you better be the best damn writer you can be or I swear to God I will get you. Don't know how, don't know when, but I will get you."

Bill smiles, shy, his cheeks darkening.

Except there was one small thing about Robert's statement.

"Huh-Who am I m-muh-married to?" he asks.

Robert pulls his hand away, looking down.

"I m-muh-mean... that's the l-luh-life, isn't it?" Bill asks. "A p-puh-promising c-cuh-career, s-suh-something b-buh-big and f-fuh-fancy, l-luh-like b-buh-being a p-puh-published author and huh-having everyone l-luh-love your stories... even if they are scary... or m-muh-maybe that's j-juh-just Stephen K-Kuh-King and I... b-buh-but a l-luh-lot of k-kuh-kids consider growing up about what they're going to be, what kind of j-juh-job they'll huh-have or huh-how m-muh-much m-muh-money they're going to m-muh-make... or huh-how b-buh-beautiful they're w-wuh-wives will be, b-buh-but..."

He lowers his eyes, thinking of his own parents.

"I think I would like to be a dad."

Robert stares at him, his eyes unreadable.

Almost like a large, endless, book in another language.

Bill shrugs as he continues.

"I d-duh-don't know huh-how m-muh-much m-muh-money I'll m-muh-make, or where I'll b-buh-be in the f-fuh-future, but I do know that I'll l-luh-love m-muh-my k-kuh-kids m-muh-more than anything else in the w-wuh-world. I'll l-luh-love them l-luh-like they d-duh-deserve to b-buh-be l-luh-loved."

Tears stream down his cheeks as he thinks of how his father has treated him these past few months, thinks of how his mother abandoned him and Georgie, left them to pick up the pieces, left Bill to pick up the pieces of the marriage she broke. Of the family she broke. He thinks of how his father smacked him in the face over a card all because Bill invited a stranger into the house. He could see his father's point over that, but Robert wasn't a stranger anymore. He was Bill's friend.

And honestly, he personally thought his dad overreacted. He might be bigoted, but still. He didn't need to _hit_ him over the card. He knows, too, that his father prefers the bottle over his own kids, how he has put his hands on Bill when he doesn't need to, grabbed him by the face that night after the store...

He wipes his cheeks with his hand, sniffling as he thinks of the perfume.

That was the worst one. He couldn't understand why his father would want him to wear his mother's perfume. Robert understands, all too well, and hopes Bill never has to figure it out.

"Να είσαι καλύτερος από τον πατέρα σου," Robert says softly.

Bill blinks, first with confusion because he knew Robert was speaking, but then his brain registers the fact that he has no idea what the hell Robert just said, and it wasn't that beautiful language Robert sang to him in.

"W-Wuh-What?" Bill asks, looking at him with teary eyes.

Robert just smiles.

"It's Greek," he explains. "And it means; be better than your father."

"Oh," Bill says softly, his heart hammering in his chest as his belly twists. "I didn't... I didn't know you spoke G-Gruh-Greek."

"Nobody knew," Robert says. "But just so you do know, I speak every language there is to speak."

"W-Wuh-Wish I could," Bill says glumly, though he was impressed.

"You know, for some people writing is talking. You don't have to be able to speak the language to know it," Robert says.

"I g-guh-guess n-nuh-not," Bill says, smiling. "W-Wuh-Would y-yuh-you t-tuh-teach m-muh-me?"

"Of course I would," Robert says. "Along with the piano lessons if you wanted."

Bill beams.

"C-Cuh-Can w-wuh-we s-spuh-spend the d-duh-day at the c-c-circus?" Bill asks. "I... W-Wuh-Well, you weren't r-ruh-wrong w-wuh-when you s-suh-said I huh-had my eye on those b-buh-books, that b-buh-boardgame, and those c-cuh-comics."

"Of course I wasn't wrong," Robert says pleasantly. "And you'll have the plush tiger, too."

Bill smiles, somewhat embarrassed but not really.

"W-Wuh-What're y-yuh-you g-guh-going to d-duh-do f-fuh-for S-Stan's b-buh-birthday?" he asks. "You s-suh-said huh-he could huh-have a p-puh-party there."

"Well, cake and ice cream, balloons and presents, the usual," Robert says. "Gamora has a parting gift for him and I've got a gift in mind, too."

Bill frowns at that part, having yet to meet the famous Gamora that had caught Stan's heart.

"P-Puh-Parting?"

"She has to go home, doesn't she? I wanted her help with a few things, I helped her out of a... sticky situation with her... father..."

What? Eldritch abominations could hate endings, too. Plus, it was mostly to help Stan anyway.

"One thing led to another, Stan has a crush and he's going to _be_ crushed when she leaves. Hence why she's leaving him the parting gift. I feel bad for that, honestly," Robert says truthfully. "He'll be fine, though."

"W-Wuh-What's the g-guh-gift?" Bill asks.

"No spoilers, not even for you," Robert says, smiling.

"W-Wuh-What'd you n-nuh-need huh-her huh-help with, if you d-duh-don't m-muh-mind m-muh-my asking?"

"I do mind," Robert says simply. "It's nothing personal."

Bill smiles and nods, though his thoughts drift back to what Robert said at the hospital.

"H-Huh-How would you b-buh-be t-tuh-taking from me?"

Robert looks away.

He sighs.

"Because, to me, it feels as though I am taking from you because of your... first kiss, for starters," he says softly, though he knows no one will overhear their conversation, not as he uses his influence. "It should have been with someone around your age, at the very least. Someone like... Beverly."

"I don't l-luh-like B-Buh-Beverly," Bill says. "N-Nuh-Not l-luh-like huh-how I l-luh-like you."

"That's why I feel bad," Robert says. "I..."

 _I_ _know_ _how_ _our_ _lives_ _could_ _play_ _out_ _and_ _not_ _yet_ _how_ _they_ _actually_ _will_. _I_ _know_ _what_ _happened_ _in_ _that_ _past_ _life_ , _though_ _the_ _memories_ _of_ _it_ _are_ _slowly_ _fading_. _I_ _do_ _remember_ _how_ _I stole away your little brother and how I robbed you of your childhood and nearly ruined each and every one of you Losers all the way into your adulthoods_. _Of_ _which_ , _you_ _never_ _got_ _to_ _have_. _I_ _stole_ _your_ _life_ _from_ _you_ , _Bill_. _The_ _life_ _you_ _would_ _have_ _lived_ _with_ _Audra_. _I_ _know how you and your friends killed my kin and nearly killed me_. _I know that that version of you in that old life wouldn't change much_ , _because_ _somehow a happily ever after still came out of it_. _Bits_ _and_ _pieces_ , _maybe_ , _but_ _not_ _a_ _whole_ _lot_.

Robert thinks, tapping his fingers against the table.

 _I_ _can't get away from the 27 year long_ _sleep_ , _and I feel as though I'm going to break your heart when I go unless I take you with me_... _if_ _you'd_ _let_ _me_. _But then I just feel as though I'm stealing you away_ _again_. _I'm_ _guilty_ _or_ _I'm_ _lonely_. _Either_ _way_ , _I'm_ _selfish_ , _aren't_ _I_? _I might not_ _ever_ _see_ you _again_ _after_ _this_ _summer_. _Or_ _I_ _might_ , _27_ _years_ _from_ _now_ , _so_ _what_ _do_ _I_ _do_? _Do I enjoy what little time I have left with you or do I keep_ _you_? _Would_ _you_ _let_ _me_ _keep_ _you_ _in_ _knowing_ _who_ _and_ _what_ _I_ _am_? _What_ _I've_ _done_? _Knowing it would cost you Audra and potential children_?

"It's up to you, Bill," Robert says softly, going for cowardice. "I... I can't make this decision. There are many things that... may send us down different paths. For all you know, I could die tomorrow and leave you heartbroken."

"Don't say that," Bill says, frowning.

"It's true," Robert says. "I could die tomorrow or even today. I could die some time at the end of this summer or even 27 years from now. It's hard to say. I just... I'll admit it... I'm weak. I can't make this decision, for you or for myself. I... I may not have those five years and I don't want you to regret anything."

"Because of your stomach?" Bill inquires.

"Partly, yes," Robert admits. "Life may take us down different roads, it's just something that might happen. No matter what you choose, though, it won't change anything between us. I'm your friend, I'd like to think. For as long as you'll have me." He sighs. "This may sound odd, but... I don't really see people as children or adults. Some children are more mature than adults and obviously some adults can act even worse than children. You're kind of inbetween, a teenager. Yet you're still a kid in so many ways... I just don't want to see you lose that shine of yours so quickly."

Bill smiles as he takes Robert's hand.

"I don't think it's something that just... goes away like that," he says, not even stuttering. "I think, it's always there. Like you. You're older, but you still have this thing about you that makes you seem more like a kid than an adult. I didn't mind it, I enjoyed it. Same as you. I think, from here on out, things should just unfold however they unfold. I wouldn't mind spending more time with you, even just as friends. I'd like more, and I'd wait. I think we should just enjoy what time we do have... But of course I'll have you, d-duh-dumbass. And you aren't trying to take from me. I think you're the reason I won't lose that shine you keep talking about so soon."

Bill lowers his eyes, sliding his hand out of Robert's grasp, both lamenting the loss of contact. Bill presses his hands to his thighs, hiding the jittery fingers under the table as he bites his lower lip. He gazes around the diner, clearly wary if someone decides to start listening into their conversation, but he sees that they're all too busy worrying about their own selves. Even the waitress. Of course, Robert just has that air about him when it comes to other people, retaining Pennywise's shadow over Derry, that makes those people look the other way and ignore him entirely.

His smile turns sad.

"I stayed with an old man, at the hospital," he says softly, still not stuttering. "He said he was 94. He was all alone except for a stray cat he named Azrael. After an angel. He... he didn't have anybody. He was all alone in there, and I sat with him. He knew B-Buh-Bob Gray."

"A lot of people did," Robert says solemnly. "He was a very well liked and beloved man, as you know."

"Y-Yuh-Yeah," Bill says. "It was so sad. He had cancer, in his lungs, and I felt sad seeing him like that. He told me that he knew it was his time, too, because of the cat. That the cat would sit with people whenever it was their t-tuh-time to... g-guh-go." Bill smiles, wiping his tears away. "He thought he was seeing a b-buh-balloon. L-Luh-Like the w-wuh-ones huh-he used to g-guh-get from B-Buh-Bob Gray..."

Something clicks in his head then. Something bizarre, almost.

The old man said Bob Gray was young when he died, only thirty or so, and Mrs. Kersh was only eleven, even younger than Bill currently was. But Robert spoke of him as though he knew him, and they shared a name... although Robert could've changed his name, Bill supposed...

Robert grows quiet, sensing Bill's curious thoughts before he speaks them.

"Did you know him? B-Buh-Bob Gray?"

"I knew _of_ him, yes," Robert says, half truthful. "I knew of how good he was even in this dark world. In this dirty little town. And it makes me sad when I think about how he died. About how he and the rest of his circus died, and how they put down the animals from the circus even though there was no logical explanation for those murders."

"Oh... s-suh-sorry... I thought..."

"I never said I knew him personally," Robert says, still truthful. He knew people inside and out, sometimes even more than they knew themselves, but still. "He was an idol, for many. He's the real reason I became the clown in the first place."

"That's nice," Bill says. He lowers his eyes, becoming nervous as he catches a glance at something on the menu. Robert just smiles knowingly.

"Mind adding a vanilla milkshake to that?" he asks the older waitress.

"Sure thing, hun," she says as Bill lowers his eyes, flushing.

"Huh-How do you do that?"

"I'm a very good reader of people, Bill," Robert says. "It's why I always win at poker. Like our darling waitress? She's new to town, as I'm sure you've guessed, and she's regretted moving here ever since."

"W-Wuh-Well, that's an easy one," Bill says. "M-Muh-Most p-puh-people w-wuh-want out of D-Duh-Derry. You know s-suh-someone is from Derry when they s-suh-say they huh-hate it."

"Fair point," Robert says, glancing around the register. His eyes drift over to the man at the register, Bill turning to look. Robert whispers his next words, "Randy at the register? He's skimming. Boss is suspicious, you can tell with how she keeps loking back at him, but hasn't anything solid yet."

"Huh-How can you tell?" Bill asks softly.

"See how he turns his wrist? He's got a couple of fives. He doesn't take anything too big, lest she catch him in the act. He's wearing a long sleeve, in the summer. Wouldn't anyone be suspicious?"

Bill watches as Randy not so subtly glances around to make sure nobody's looking before sliding the fives up into his sleeve. Bill scoffs.

"Prick," he says.

"Mm-hmm. She'll get him, don't worry."

"Another."

"See that family over there? Four of them."

"Y-Yuh-Yeah?"

"Husband's cheating. Daughter's pregnant."

Bill looks between Robert and the family of four, a husband and his wife and their daughter who looks to be about Bowers' age, as well as another girl who looks to be about Bill's age.

"Huh-How can you tell?"

"Easy. See how the wife twists her ring and glares at her husband? He's got at least one mistress, possibly more. She hasn't anything concrete either. And the daughter is fidgety and keeps resting her hand on her stomach, and doesn't want her parents to find out. She also doesn't want to end up in a marriage similar. She's also nervous about telling the father, because she doesn't want him to skive off on her and she doesn't want to be labeled as a slut, obviously. The other kid? You think a dad with that kind of job can afford a necklace like that? Or even those earrings? Shoplifter in the making. Influenced most likely by the friend her parents don't want her hanging around."

Bill turns back towards Robert, vaguely impressed.

"K-Kuh-Keen eyes. You could've made a great c-cuh-cop," Bill says.

"Nah. I'm a clown from the circus," Robert says.

The younger waitress is the one that brings them the milkshake, vanilla with a cherry on top, still giving Bill a look of absolute loathing even as she slips a piece of paper towards Robert, giving him a full on wink as she does before walking away. Bill rolls his eyes as he grabs the two straws on their table, having always intended on sharing with Robert.

Robert pushes the scrap of paper away with his fork.

"No," is all he says, drawing out the word.

Bill smiles, quite smugly, at that.

"Um... out of curiosity... if it were... to b-buh-be m-muh-more... w-wuh-what w-wuh-word w-wuh-would you use?" he asks, stuttering out of shyness and nerves. "Other than b-buh-boyfriend?"

Robert shrugs.

"Mate," he says simply.

Bill tilts his head, a strange feeling enveloping him. Almost like a swooping sensation in the pit of his stomach as he smiles, testing the waters with the word.

"M-Muh-Mate."

It wasn't too difficult to say, not for him. It was short and straight to the point. Actually, he kind of liked it.

"I know it's all w-wuh-weird, b-buh-but it f-fuh-felt p-puh-perfectly f-fuh-fine... n-nuh-normal, even," Bill says, smiling shyly. "I... Everything s-suh-seems s-suh-so m-muh-messed up these d-duh-days, except f-fuh-for w-wuh-when I'm w-wuh-with you. And... m-muh-maybe b-buh-because of m-muh-my age, I should b-buh-be l-luh-looking at other people but... I don't want to. I know all I want is you, no matter what..." he frowns, unsure. "Is that selfish of me?"

"Not at all," Robert says. "I just want you to know that... I've been known for having a... possessive streak..."

"So... what? You get jealous easy?"

"You could say that," Robert says, tapping his fingers against the table with his right hand. "I don't respond well when... potential suitors come along.

Bill shrugs.

"I don't think anyone does," he says, smiling. "I m-muh-mean... I'm still thinking about asking B-Buh-Beverly to p-puh-punch that g-guh-girl in the f-fuh-face."

Robert raises an eyebrow.

"I know, it's stupid... she's older than me but... she's still a girl. Boys don't hit girls..."

"She hits you first, you have every right to knock her on her ass," Robert says. He gives Bill a toothy grin, his eyes glinting. "Personally, I would very much like to see that."

"I bet you would, you dick," Bill says, jabbing his straw into the milkshake. "Share with me."

"You are a determined little shit, aren't you?"

"It's a milkshake. They're delicious. Not worth five dollars, but pretty good," Bill says before taking a drink.

Robert just smiles before pushing in his own straw.

It was not as terrible as he thought it would be, he would give Bill that.

"S-Suh-So, anything else p-pluh-planned for Stan's b-buh-birthday?" Bill asks. "Other than... telling him the g-guh-girl of his dreams has to go huh-home?"

"Nah, there's a beautiful Jewish girl out there for him," Robert says.

"You say that as though you know for a fact," Bill says, wary of the side-eyed smirk he gets from Robert. His eyes can't help but glance at those lips, though lacking the red lipstick, as they wrap around the straw. He swallows, eyes widening a fraction, as he watches Robert drink the milkshake. He looks away. "I felt bad for that man."

"He's in a better place now," Robert says.

"D-Duh-Do you r-ruh-really b-buh-believe in H-Huh-Heaven?"

"I believe there is an after. I imagine it's like a nice, final and restful sleep," Robert says. "Come on, I don't wanna talk about death. It's just one of those things that seems scary but doesn't have to be."

"That's what I told him," Bill says. "I just felt so sad, because he was all alone except for some random k-kuh-kid he just met and a c-cuh-cat named after the angel of d-duh-death and r-ruh-retribution."

"Sometimes random kids and cats are better company than people you do know," Robert says. "Take Bowers for example; Oscar is a bastard to him. You really think Henry is going to want to go to his funeral and talk about what a _good_ man he was? People have funerals for those who died and most of the time, they're faker than fuck. Say there's this little old lady, and she's got all these kids and lots of grandkids and none of them visit her. They're just waiting for her to croak," a thoughtful look crosses his face. "Like Bedelia's father in _Creepshow_. If she hadn't killed him, she would've just been waiting for him to die so she could be free, and most likely, at his funeral the rest of the family would've been talking about what a _poor_ old man he was. What a _saint_ he was."

"L-Luh-Like that episode of _Little_ _House_ _on_ _the_ _Prairie_. The old woman who faked her death after her friend died," Bill says sadly. "It's s-suh-so sad, though. I know not everyone's like that, and we always have our memories but... it's scary. Dying itself is scary but... dying alone..."

"You won't," Robert says. "You're gonna die an old man, 94 years old, just like he was, in your bed, nice and warm and surrounded by things that make you happy. The books you've written over the years, whatever else you've got, and most of all, you're gonna be full of memories. Some good, some bad, but memories nonetheless. And when you die, you're gonna die with a smile on your face."

Bill smiles.

"See? One just like that."

Bill grins.

"It's w-wuh-weird how you always put things into p-puh-perspective," he says before taking another drink of the milkshake. "I'll remember you, no matter what."

"That's funny," Robert says, a smile on his face. "I was going to say the same thing about you."

"I know it's n-nuh-not exactly ideal... and it'd huh-have to b-buh-be a s-suh-secret, b-buh-but... I'd n-nuh-never r-ruh-regret it," Bill says. "I w-wuh-want it. I w-wuh-want you. Friend or whatever, I don't care, but... I wouldn't m-muh-mind it if we... huh-had m-muh-more... I j-juh-just d-duh-don't w-wuh-want to l-luh-lose you as a friend... and I certainly don't want you to die because of your stomach problems."

Robert smiles, though his guilt remains.

Guilt for the night after the store and how she had cut Bill's arm open and how he had nearly succeeded in killing Bill himself, and guilt for keeping so many secrets. He supposes it was just something that had to happen but maybe if he could, just this once, find his happily ever after, memories of that old life full of darkness and devastation fading away and being replaced with this new one. He found some semblance of a happily ever after with Bill in that old life, so maybe...

... just maybe...

Maybe someone higher thought his dues had been paid, and this was his second chance for a better future. One where he didn't have to die at the end of the story.

"To be honest," Bill says. "If I d-duh-didn't w-wuh-want to m-muh-make sure Georgie f-fuh-finishes school, I think I would've been one of the kids to run away with the circus."

"To live a life of adventure full of romance and danger? Why not?" Robert says. "However, you're also going to finish school and you're going to become a writer."

"If y-yuh-you say so," Bill says, smiling. "I could be a writer even if I was with the circus, couldn't I?"

"I don't know, probably," Robert says before letting Bill have the milkshake. "Honestly, though, I'm going to give Stan a real show on his birthday. Between you and me, it involves Eddie having a moment like you did."

"W-Wuh-What? W-Wuh-With V-Vuh-Vitaly?" Bill asks as he licks the whipped cream from the straw, fishing around for the cherry with his other hand. "Y-Yuh-You're g-guh-gonna m-muh-make him s-suh-sit with the t-tuh-tiger?"

"Nope. Not the tiger," Robert says, smiling. "He gets to meet Sonya."

"The b-buh-bear?"

Robert nods, eyes wide with delight.

"He's braver than he thinks," Robert says. "Don't be surprised if one of the lemurs snatches his inhaler, though. Probably Mort."

Bill grins as he bites the cherry.

He flushes, however, when Robert reaches his hand up to his face and uses his thumb to wipe away a bit of whipped cream from the corner of his mouth. He doesn't complain however, and if they weren't in public, he isn't so sure he wouldn't have licked it from Robert's thumb. He stammers on his next words.

"You think h-huh-he and R-Ruh-Richie w-wuh-will... you know."

"Hard to say," Robert says. "They're cute together, but some things just aren't meant to be. They'll always have the good memories, though. Ready to get out of here?"

"I huh-have to p-puh-pee f-fuh-first," Bill says, smiling awkwardly. "I shouldn't huh-have drank that coffee and both orange juices."

"I'll be in the car," Robert says, reaching into his pocket and dropping a small brown pouch on the middle of the table. Bill raises an eyebrow as it jangles, but it doesn't sound like coins. "Let's just say Zaragoza paid well. Randy will be gone today once the waitress finds this."

And with that, Robert slides out of the booth as the other waitress comes to take the payment. She frowns with confusion at the sight of it, giving Bill a wary glance before shrugging and opening the pouch as he gets up. As he heads for the bathroom, he completely misses her press a hand to her heart and fall backwards, thudding loudly on the floor, fainting as her husband, the cook, darts for her.

They'll be okay, Robert knows with a smile.

Bill is minding his own business, washing his hands, when she comes in. Completely ignoring the fact that it was the men's room and not the women's room. She shuts the door behind herself, a hand propped up on her hip as she presses the other against the wall, looking him up and down with that same dirty look.

"This is the m-muh-men's r-ruh-room," Bill says awkwardly.

"Shut up," she says.

Bill bristles instantly as she eyes the clothes in his person, the gears in her head clearly turning as she bites her lips, hard, and he can tell she can't quite figure out what to make of him.

If Bill was a bitch, he would say that he was surprised she had any gears in her head to turn to begin with.

"He your brother?"

Bill frowns, confused as he turns off the water.

"W-Wuh-What?"

She scoffs, her eyes piercing him, Bill well aware it was because of his stutter.

"The guy with the hotrod and the bag of jewels he gave the owner of this dump," she spits. "He your brother?"

" _Jewelry_? He left the waitress _jewelry_?" Bill asks, surprised.

"Not jewelry, you idiot. _Jewels_. There were fucking _diamonds_ and _rubies_ in that bag," she spits. "Randy's fired and I ain't gonna see one of those things. Can you believe that these two still want to keep the diner open? Financial troubles are definitely gone now. All for some loser named Billy. Answer the fucking question already."

"No," Bill says, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Robert had _diamonds_ and _rubies_ and just...

... gave them away.

To... keep the diner open...

... for Bill?

"He single?"

That question right then and there makes Bill feel as though her words were knives, plunging into his stomach and even his heart. He feels as though he's being stung by thousands of hornets and wasps alike, and they're pissed off. He can even hear a faint, angry buzzing in his ears. He knows it's jealousy, and that he can't help it, just as he knows it's pointless to try and fight it. What pisses him off the most, however, is the fact that she doesn't care about Robert at all, but the fact that obviously, very obviously, he's rich.

That does not bode well with Bill, who doesn't give a shit about that.

"No, he isn't," Bill says.

She scoffs and grins. She smiles sweetly at him.

"Yeah, well, she ain't got what I got, I'll tell ya that. You wanna put in a good word for me, sweetie pie?"

Bill glares at her.

"Get out of my way."

She blocks his path, shoving him back by his chest.

First blood was drawn.

By _her_.

"Listen, shithead, I've been busting my sweet ass working this joint for too long to let a guy like that slip through my fingers just because some stuttering freak wanted to but in," she snaps. She points her finger at him, waggling it in his face. He wants to break it clean off her hand. "Once you hit puberty, you'll understand that these --" she gestures to her breasts, "-- don't come easy."

"Just cheap," Bill spits.

"Whatever. Ain't my fault you're not old enough for him, you little shit," she says. She grins, wide and nasty. "Come back in about what... ten years? Don't tell me _you're_ Billy?"

Bill is silent.

"You must be somebody special if he wants to keep this shithole open for you," she says. "What's the secret?"

"He's my _friend_ ," Bill says. "And I don't want his money."

"My _ass_ ," she sneers. "There's no way you aren't --"

She gives him a look, to which he understands instantly. She sneers.

"Trust me, sweetie pie, it ain't _you_ he wants. That cute little face won't last forever."

Bill isn't sure what makes him do it, but when she jabs her finger into his chest, he shoves her back.

He would never shove a girl, under any circumstances, but he had buttons that for too long had been pushed, repeatedly, and had never been able to fight back before. Not against his mother's beau back in October, not against his father when he made all the new demands of Bill, not even when he ripped up Robert's card and smacked Bill in the face as though he thought he was a tramp, and certainly against Bowers or even Connor. The one time he did, he had backup with the Losers and Georgie at the stream when they met Mike. The rock fight had been different.

Bill was honestly sorry for shoving a girl, but she had pushed too far.

She drew first blood, not him.

He only shoves her back, hands shoving her back by the chest, mindful not to touch her breasts, and she goes flying into the bathroom stall, the loud BANG of the door slamming into the tiled wall making him jump as she falls into the toilet and splashing water all over the floor. She screeches, like a scorned harpy.

"YOU LITTLE BITCH!"

Bill runs for it, apologizing for shoving a girl but not apologizing for shoving a bitch, and darts out of the bathroom door, tears running down his face for reasons he can't even begin to understand. He stands by the door, about to run out, still crying and nobody is noticing. Except for one little girl, who climbs up on the back of her seat, in one of the booths, looking at Bill with a smile.

He bites his lips with insecurity.

Thirteen...

It was bad, he knew. Well, to most it was bad if Robert was a creep but he _wasn't_. The whole point was that he was letting Bill choose and would back off if told... the thing was, Bill was the one who didn't want him to back off. Bill wishes he could be older, maybe at least fifteen like Bowers or even seventeen... or maybe if Robert was younger... but Bill didn't think it would be the same.

What they had, it wasn't normal, but Bill would like to think that's why it was special. He wanted it. It was clear that on some level, so did Robert. It was just... Robert didn't see him as a kid. As some snot-nosed little punk who had gotten too big for his britches. He saw him as Bill. Just Bill. Not a kid. He wasn't stupid enough to consider himself an adult, but he had to deal with most things that kids shouldn't have to. He would like to think that, five years down the road, he would have what he wanted.

Which was Robert.

But Bill was never known for his patience.

The little girl from the booth, her blondish brown hair held up in pigtails, a red and white checkered dress on her little person, looks at him with big brown eyes as she smiles at him.

"You're the only one he'd move the stars for," she tells him. "Even if it does end up killing him."

Bill blanches at her, to which she bops him on the nose before sitting back down, disappearing behind the seat of her booth. He barely catches a glimpse of her father, who's drinking a coffee while reading a newspaper about the "Springwoood Slasher" and for a brief second, Bill might've thought he was looking at Robert Englund in a green polo shirt.

He runs for it as soon as he hears the bathroom door opening, none of the other patrons in the bar bothering to notice as the waitress runs for the door, a pissed off look on her face and her entire dress and underwear soaked with toilet water. She slams her hands, and then her fists, against the glass of the diner, screaming profanities, to which nobody reacts, fat tears of anger streaming down her face and smearing her mascara, making her look like a blue-eyed, enraged raccoon.

She slams her fists against the door, screaming mostly with her anger at the fact that the "stuttering brat" had the balls to shove her. What she witnesses pisses her off more is that nobody in the diner cares.

Bill runs right into Robert, nearly knocking the both of them down, tears streaming even though he knows it's stupid. She didn't mean anything. She was just a gold digger who had no idea what she was dealing with. Bill knew for a fact that she would have just stolen those jewels if she had gotten the chance, same as the cashier. She didn't give a shit about Robert or anyone but herself.

He presses his face against Robert's stomach, forehead against that strong sternum, when he feels Robert's arms wrapping around him, hugging him and holding him close. He curses the height difference as well as the age difference, but it just wouldn't be the same. Robert wasn't some random weirdo, some creep, he was Robert.

The clothes on Bill's body were Robert's.

Robert had kissed him.

He had kissed Robert.

Multiple times.

Robert had saved him from those boys just last night and had held him all night as they had slept. Robert had "let" Bill drag him to the hospital. Bill knew with absolute certainty that Robert had been mostly humoring him at the hospital. The old guy and the cat was just a strange addition that Bill hadn't expected. He could've done without the orderly being a pervert (an example of what Robert was absolutely not) but then he wouldn't have met that man and the cat. Either way, Robert was his friend, and something else.

Bill may not be ready to use the "M" word, but it felt and sounded about right to him.

Still...

Any other girl as outwardly pretty as that and with a better personality would be better in the eyes of the public, or a boy as Robert said he wasn't interested in a girlfriend, but...

"I'm sorry," Bill murmurs tearfully.

"Don't be," Robert says. "She pushed, you pushed back. You have nothing to be sorry for."

"She asked about the stupid jewels," Bill says. "I can't believe you would do that... don't you need them?"

"Let's just say Zaragoza struck literal gold with that lion," Robert says. "The diner was in trouble, and you would be sad if they went bankrupt and had to shut down."

Bill looks up at him through blurry vision.

"Huh?"

Robert just smiles at him as he wipes the tears away.

"I could see it. The diner is in a bit of trouble, financially. It doesn't help with ol' Randy skimming from the register, and having such a trampy waitress. That business has been around since before you were even born. You'd be sad if it went out of business, so I made sure they didn't. Business will be drumming up again, soon enough."

"Huh-How in the f-fuh-fuck are you s-suh-so good that you'd g-guh-give _d-duh-diamonds_ and _r-ruh-rubies_ to a r-ruh-random d-duh-diner? You don't even know them. How in the fuck to you even get _jewels_ like that from Zaragoza?"

"I know you," Robert says. "And magicians don't reveal their secrets, Bill."

"Y-Yuh-You're n-nuh-not D-Duh-David C-Cuh-Copperfield."

"No, I'm Pennywise."

Bill smiles, watery but sincere.

"There's n-nuh-no w-wuh-way you d-duh-did that j-juh-just f-fuh-for m-muh-me," he says. "I don't believe it."

"Don't matter what you believe in. If it's real, it's real. And this? It's definitely real."

Bill doesn't answer except to hug him all the tighter.

"She's a bitch, Bill. And while I am also against hitting women, this is literally the time you can say; she started it."

"She told me to come back in t-tuh-ten y-yuh-years," Bill says miserably. "I know it's stupid b-buh-but it still f-fuh-fucking huh-hurt. There's n-nuh-no w-wuh-way she wasn't j-juh-judging the s-stuh-stutter."

"You're better than she is, why else would she try and tear you down? Besides, I'd take listening to you struggle for sincere words than listen to her ramble on and on about bullshit."

Bill's heart beats strangely at that as his stomach jitters and he smiles with disbelief.

"R-Ruh-Really?"

"Really, really."

Bill's smile stretches, honest and hopeful.

"Thank you."

"Anytime. Besides, that car? It would run that bitch down and into the dirt before letting her drive it. You do realize you're the only other person besides myself, and Pamela, who has driven it?"

Bill grins at that.

"You s-suh-say that as though the c-cuh-car is s-suh-sentient."

"Maybe she is. Haven't you noticed all of my Stephen King references?"

"Y-Yuh-You're a m-muh-man of culture," Bill says simply. "You n-nuh-know you're huh-horror b-buh-books and m-muh-movies... s-spuh-speaking of w-wuh-which... that animatronic... thing... where'd you get it?"

"You know how some people can say, 'I know a guy'?"

"Y-Yuh-Yeah?"

"I'm the guy."

Bill chuckles even as his cheeks grow hot.

"I can't believe you would do that..."

"It's a cold grave when the only thing keeping you company is money," Robert says wisely. "They'll be okay. And so will you."

"Yeah..."

Silence, not at all awkward, Bill simply enjoying the coldness of Robert's embrace on the hot summer morning, not a care in the world. Not at that moment.

"You know... it was my first kiss..."

"Yes," Robert says softly.

"I mean... there w-wuh-was a p-pluh-play I was in a l-luh-long t-tuh-time ago... b-buh-back in third grade with B-Buh-Bev b-buh-but it was n-nuh-nothing like that..." He lowers his voice, unncessarily. "Obviously I know w-wuh-what s-suh-sex is and I r-ruh-really l-luh-liked it."

"As did I."

Bill scoffs, letting out a little grin.

"You didn't even..." his cheeks burn with red, "... you know."

"Hadn't thought about it. Still not. I don't know what I was thinking, other than that I had you with me, and... I wanted to have you. Maybe it was wrong of me but, so long as you didn't think so, I don't either."

Bill shakes his head. He doesn'tfind it very wrong. Not at all..

"I know m-muh-my age w-wuh-will always b-buh-be w-wuh-weird... f-fuh-for at least f-fuh-five m-muh-more y-yuh-years b-buh-but... I w-wuh-want to g-guh-go w-wuh-wherever the r-ruh-road d-duh-does. I'm... n-nuh-not exactly p-puh-patient... It's just that... you and G-Guh-Georgie and our f-fruh-friends are the f-fuh-few g-guh-good things I huh-have in this l-luh-life... I'd l-luh-like to think that you and I w-wuh-won't p-puh-part w-wuh-ways when we're older b-buh-but..." He sighs. "That old m-muh-man told me not to waste my y-yuh-years like huh-he did."

"I don't think he meant jump into a relationship with a full grown man when you're only thirteen years old," Robert says, smiling in amusement when Bill puffs out his cheeks, pouting.

"I know that," Bill says. "What I mean is... this w-wuh-weird thing that w-wuh-we huh-have... I'm not ashamed of it... I w-wuh-want it. J-Juh-Just... w-wuh-one d-duh-day after another... r-ruh-right?"

"If that's what you want," Robert says.

"It is," Bill says firmly. "It w-wuh-won't c-cuh-complicate things, will it?"

"Nah," Robert says. "Life is like a spider's web, woven together. Spiders don't weave webs for naught. They do it for a reason. Things happen in life, for a reason. No matter what happens in the end, we were always meant to cross paths in our lives. Our fates are woven together, one way or another."

"That's nice," Bill says. "B-Buh-Beautiful, actually..."

He can't help but let out a laugh, though he isn't sure if there is no humor or if it's meant to be morbid and dry.

"I can't tell if this is supposed to be a really weird version of _Romeo_ _&_ _Juliet_. She was thirteen, almost fourteen... wasn't she?"

"Yes. But you do know that Romeo's age was never exactly specified... and they both died in the end?"

"Why does everybody always have to make it about that part?" Bill asks without the stutter. "Y-Yuh-You're still n-nuh-not s-suh-some p-puh-pervert. The huh-whole p-puh-point of that story is that it was f-fuh-forbidden, s-stuh-star-crossed, even, b-buh-but I'd l-luh-like to think that d-duh-despite the tragic ending, they still f-fuh-found each other on the other side. It ended the f-fuh-feud b-buh-between the f-fuh-families, too. There's a l-luh-lot m-muh-more than the age d-duh-difference and the sad ending. It's sad, but m-muh-more l-luh-like b-buh-bittersweet. It's g-guh-good like that. That's why it is good."

Robert lowers his eyes, thinking, as Bill's breath trembles and the boy shakes, head to toe, clinging onto Robert's shirt for comfort.

"You're n-nuh-not s-suh-some m-muh-monster, even though you s-suh-seem to think so," Bill says. "You've s-suh-saved m-muh-me p-puh-personally from r-ruh-real w-wuh-ones."

Robert knows it's taking a lot out of Bill for him to share this next part and the clown ensures none can hear this conversation. He's well aware that the girl is still watching, furiously, from the door instead of returning to her job, and the owners of the diner are too overjoyed to actually care. None listen, except for Robert. Who, Bill knows, is always there to listen. And he knows, then, that Robert will always be there.

Bill would like to always be there for Robert, too.

Always.

At the moment though, the clown knows Bill needs him.

More than anyone or anything else in the world.

And beyond.

"I... I huh-had this druh-dream... a l-luh-little w-wuh-while before I actually m-muh-met you... about this k-kuh-kid I g-guh-go to school with..." Bill says, trying to swallow the bile that rises in the back of his throat. He grimaces. "W-Wuh-Well... went to school with... H-Huh-His n-nuh-name is -- was -- P-Puh-Patrick Huh-Hockstetter... huh-he's w-wuh-one of the m-muh-missing k-kuh-kids... buh-but I huh-had this dream... and it f-fuh-felt s-suh-so r-ruh-real... and huh-he tried to huh-hurt m-muh-me in it... r-ruh-really b-buh-badly... l-luh-like those b-buh-boys from l-luh-last night."

Bill gauges Robert's reaction, though he hardly gets one other than a rising darkness in the older man's eyes. As though he wishes he could've beaten Patrick into a bloodied pulp.

Bill wishes that could have been so.

"How'd the dream end?" Robert asks, knowing the answer.

"Something ate him," Bill says bluntly. "N-Nuh-Not the b-buh-best ending b-buh-but..."

"No, no, I think that's a good ending," Robert says darkly.

"I g-guh-gess m-muh-me, t-tuh-too," Bill says. "It w-wuh-was juh-just s-suh-so w-wuh-weird... I thought I w-wuh-woke up and m-muh-my dad m-muh-made me t-tuh-take out the g-guh-garbage and then h-huh-he was there... huh-he looked like shit... looked like he went hiking in the sewers and fucking smelled like it too... and his l-luh-leg was all m-m-muh-messed up. He chased m-muh-me all the w-wuh-way to the cuh-corner of J-Juh-Jackson and W-Wuh-Witcham... wuh-where you met Georgie."

"Uh huh," Robert says.

"And... and he tried to..." Bill starts as he wraps his arms around himself, shivering unpleasantly even though he's not cold. His skin feels gross underneath Robert's clothing. As though he's forgone a shower for days. "He tried to h-huh-hurt m-muh-me like those b-buh-boys b-buh-but suh-something grabed him and p-puh-pulled him into the stuh-storm drain and it _ate_ huh-him..." He touches the palm of his hand to his cheek, his eyes misty with tears, red rimmed, glassy with pink, and upset. "The b-bluh-blood spluh-splatter f-fuh-felt suh-so r-ruh-real... and the screaming w-wuh-was the worst p-puh-part... and then it stopped... and then... all I can r-ruh-remember are these b-buh-big r-ruh-red eyes... just staring at me... and then I p-puh-passed out... but how do you pass out in a _dream_?"

Robert is silent.

Just for a moment.

"Sounds like you've been watching too many horror movies," he says softly. "And... I imagine you can pass out in a dream if you're somewhat lucid. Kind of like waking up inside of a dream inside of a dream. I imagine that's what happens to people on Freddy Krueger's shit list."

Bill lets out a watery laugh.

"I g-guh-guess so. B-Buh-But it's w-wuh-weird isn't it? I huh-have this dream about P-Puh-Patrick and the n-nuh-next day there's already a p-puh-poster w-wuh-with his f-fuh-face on it. I m-muh-mean... he was a duh-dick anyway, and h-huh-had the n-nuh-nerve to c-cuh-call Stan a f-fluh-flamer... then m-muh-make a comment at me... buh-but..."

"He's gone, Bill," Robert says. "Once you're missing in this town, you're gone for good. Maybe that doesn't have to be such a bad thing where Patrick is concerned. Same with Richard Macklin," he says. "That aside, I'd make sure he never came near you again."

Bill smiles.

"That's n-nuh-nice. I j-juh-just w-wuh-wish I c-cuh-could s-suh-save y-yuh-you l-luh-like you always s-suh-seem to s-suh-save m-muh-me... n-nuh-not that I w-wuh-would w-wuh-want you to be in a b-buh-bad situation buh-but you g-guh-get m-muh-my p-puh-point."

"I do. Honestly, I feel half inclined to not take you back to that house."

"Then d-duh-don't," Bill says. "I n-nuh-know I huh-have to g-guh-go b-buh-back s-suh-sooner or l-luh-later b-buh-but I w-wuh-want to enjoy m-muh-my s-suh-summer wuh-with my friends. And... huh-have other things, too..." he says, his cheeks tinting pink. "There are s-suh-so m-muh-many things I w-wuh-want to s-suh-say b-buh-but I can't get it out.. and n-nuh-not j-juh-just because of the stutter..." his smile turns awkward. "M-Muh-Maybe I should write it d-duh-down?"

"Maybe," Robert says. He gives the outside a glance. "Still muddy. Not good for biking unless you stick to the sidewalks."

"C-C-Circus then?"

"Game of popping the balloons?"

"D-Duh-Deal."

Bill lowers his eyes, debating. He knows it's supposed to be good to talk about your problems, and he trusts Robert beyond words... and he's already shared the nightmare about Patrick.

"I've b-buh-been huh-having these n-nuh-nightmares," Bill admits. "They've stuh-stopped s-suh-since P-Puh-Patrick w-wuh-went m-muh-missing... and s-suh-since I m-muh-met y-yuh-you... I know suh-some of them huh-have to be r-ruh-real because..."

He sighs as he pulls up the sleeve of the shirt, revealing the long slashes on his bicep. They're scabbed over, slowly but surely healing, and the bruises have long since faded away. Robert sucks in a breath at the sight of them, knowing they wouldn't fully scar but it doesn't lessen the guilt he feels. Bill pulls the sleeve back down, not exactly keen to show Robert the slashes on his hip...

... or at least not in public.

"W-Wuh-Were you in the store?" Bill can't help but ask. "W-Wuh-When G-Guh-Georgie f-fuh-found m-muh-my t-tuh-ticket?"

"Yes," Robert confesses. "I had put it in the cart while Georgie was in the bathroom and you were getting the detergent." He scoffs. "Honestly though, what pisses me off was that your dad was in the bar across the street."

"Y-Yuh-Yeah," Bill agrees, his voice growing soft and worry bubbling inside of him. "S-Suh-So, you s-suh-saw w-wuh-what huh-happened?"

"I saw a lot of things that night, Bill. Same as you," Robert says. "I saw you fall down, your arm gushing blood and making you look like you stepped right out of a scene from a _Nightmare_ _on_ _Elm_ _Street_ film. I felt so bad."

"W-Wuh-Why didn't y-yuh-you s-suh-say or d-duh-do anything?"

"What was there for me to do? What was there for me to say?" Robert asks sadly. "There was nothing I could have done, except probably make it worse. You and I didn't... know each other then... and I had only met Georgie in October... God only knows what your father would have done... but believe me when I say that I wanted to... When I saw you go down, I wanted to help... but I couldn't."

"D-Duh-Did you s-suh-see it?" Bill asks, his eyes wide and his heart beating quickly.

"I saw a shadow, that was it," Robert says truthfully.

To a point.

She was but a shadow in this life. A shadow of a being that once was and would never be again.

So long as Bill's heart, as well as Robert's, kept beating.

"Oh..." Tears well in Bill's eyes. Robert will have none of that. "Have I gone crazy?"

Robert smiles as he takes hold of the boy's hand with both of his own.

"I'm afraid so," Robert says. "You're entirely bonkers. But I will tell you a secret; All the best people are."

Bill's lips part as he smiles, his eyes _shining_.

So brightly. So beautifully.

His heartbeat is not consistent at all.

Robert sees it then. The shining. The way Bill shines so brightly in this dark little town, this so very dark world. It was the beast inside of the clown that made him want to protect this boy from the dangers of the world, keep him safe from anything and everything until his last dying breath. And he sees it now, the beast inside of the boy, that had always been there since the beginning. In that old life and in this one.

How could he have ever not realized it?

The boy's will was greater than his own. The boy was capable of killing monsters from beyond this earthly plane on his own. Although with the Losers, he was at his strongest. Alone, however, he could face things beyond most people's worst nightmares. Even in this new life. Bill was beautiful and deadly in his own way, without ever realizing it, shining so brightly. Quite alike the explosion of a star, vast and powerful.

And the boy didn't have fucking clue about it.

"A secret kept," Robert murmurs.

He had always felt so drawn to Bill, even back then. Before everything else. The shining was part of it, yes, but...

He'd never realized...

"W-Wuh-What?" Bill asks, curious.

"It's..." Robert opens his mouth, as though about to tell Bill what he means, but he stops himself. "It'd have to be a secret, you know."

"Y-Yuh-Yeah," Bill says, sounding miserable at the thought of it. "I know. It's just... w-wuh-when I'm w-wuh-with you... I f-fuh-feel l-luh-like everything w-uh-will b-buh-be okay... and that... if the w-wuh-world w-wuh-were to f-fuh-fall d-duh-down tomorrow... I wouldn't huh-have to b-buh-be afraid... because you'd be there," Bill says softly. Robert's eyes soften as he holds the boy's hand, wishing they weren't in public so he could hold him so very close. "And... I'm s-scuh-scared a l-luh-lot of the t-tuh-time these days... b-buh-but n-nuh-not w-wuh-when you're huh-here... I don't know t-tuh-too m-muh-much about you... but that's not scary either. When you're here, things just aren't scary anymore. You know what I mean?"

Robert smiles.

"I'm starting to."

And with that, Bill wraps his arms around Robert's neck, pulling the taller man down for a kiss.

Open-mouthed and wet.

Full of tongue.

Robert grins into the kiss, however, when he feels Bill's hand moving, knowing exactly which hand gesture the boy was making.

"Stop flipping off the waitress."

Pouting into the kiss, Bill murmurs, ever the defiant one;

"No."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- The old guy and the nurse are my own but the cat is supposed to be The Cat from Coraline. The nurse might make another chapter, hard to say at the moment.  
> \- I think the next one will be summer school and will jump to Stan's birthday. I have a Billwise scene in my head for the movie theater, not sure if that'll be the next one or the one after, though. It'll probably get steamy. Most likely.

**Author's Note:**

> \- Good, bad? Let me know in the comment section below!  
> \- I hope to see some familiar names, whether or not it's to insult this work or not! Hopefully I'll see you at the next chapter!  
> \- Oh, also tags and stuff are going to probably change constantly. Including relationships.


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